


Aladdean

by Alessariel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arabian Nights Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Angst, Crack, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Crowley is sort of a good guy, Desperate Dean Winchester, Djinni & Genies, First Kiss, Helpful Meg, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Meg Masters, No Smut, No actual prostituting happens, Past Castiel/Meg Masters, Pining, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), Power of Fate, Prostitution, Shapeshifter Castiel, Soul Magic, Wingfic, Wings, non-linear storytelling, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 23:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alessariel/pseuds/Alessariel
Summary: There’s no nice way to put it: Dean’s a thief (among other unsavory things). But no matter what the palace guard claims, Dean only steals what he and his brother need to survive. Down on his luck and starving, Dean is approached by a strange man offering him the chance of a lifetime. It’s supposed to be an easy job. What could possibly go wrong?***After the storm summoned by his rage and desperation had died down, Castiel collapsed on the smooth metallic floor. Castiel‘s mind wandered back to the one thing occupying it since he’d found himself imprisoned here once more. For an ageless being of insurmountable powers it was kind of pathetic how he couldn‘t stop thinking about one lowly, inconsequential human.Only Dean was anything but low or inconsequential, at least to Castiel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [profound-boning (farawaystardust)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawaystardust/gifts).



> Written for the Profound Bond Fairytale Exchange. My giftee is [profound-boning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawaystardust/pseuds/profound-boning)! You said you love AUs, lore and mythical beings, just like me. I hope you'll find this story to your liking! And because you said you love art too, I tried to include something at least a little bit artsy.
> 
> I swear I didn't set out to write 25k in ten days. I thought this would be short and sweet. *laughs hysterically* This story fought me for a long time and without the aid of many wonderful people, it would never have been finished.
> 
> Many thanks go to [Adaille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille) for helping me come up with the idea in the first place and for betaing. [EmiliaOagi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiliaOagi/pseuds/EmiliaOagi) was an amazing cheerleader who kicked my butt repeatedly and kept me writing. Also thanks to [Phoenike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenike/pseuds/phoenike) for letting me whine and cry at her during many dark hours. And finally a shoutout to the multi-talented [PallasPerilous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PallasPerilous/pseuds/PallasPerilous) for her superfast and superthorough beta. Any mistakes left are entirely my own fault.

 

 

 

After the storm summoned by his rage and desperation had died down, Castiel collapsed on the smooth metallic floor. He‘d exhausted his powers, all to no avail. The walls of his prison were smooth and impenetrable as always, indifferent to his magic. After thousands of years, Castiel really should know better than to try and break out, but he hadn‘t been able to stop himself regardless.

The space Castiel currently occupied managed the doubtful feat of feeling both endless and cramped. Castiel‘s wings spread wide in a last flicker of anger, then quivered in defeat. The black feathers trembled against his powder blue skin as he drew his wings around in a futile attempt to comfort himself. The golden scripture on Castiel‘s skin flashed weakly with a last remnant of his power before he gave up and let himself slump in abject misery.

Castiel‘s mind wandered back to the one thing occupying it since he’d found himself imprisoned here once more. For an ageless being of insurmountable powers it was kind of pathetic how he couldn‘t stop thinking about one lowly, inconsequential human.

Only Dean was anything but low or inconsequential, at least to Castiel.

Castiel wondered if Dean was still the person he’d known. The last time he‘d seen the thief, he’d been far removed from the kind, righteous man Castiel had first met. Sam‘s words rang like a bell in his memory: "Look at him! He‘s losing himself and it‘s all your fault!" Sam was right, of course, but his words still hurt. And wasn‘t that a suckerpunch. Castiel had believed himself beyond mortal trappings such as emotions until the moment Dean had stumbled into the Cave of Wonders. Then all bets had been off.

With a snap of his fingers, Castiel summoned the magic mirror. While he gazed at the iridescent surface, the shifting colors kept coalescing, endlessly, into half-formed images before dispersing back into mist and clouds. The magic device taunted him as it always had. But Castiel hoped against hope that, maybe, this time the mirror would heed his command.

“Wake up!” he said sharply, and immediately the colors solidified into the image of a man. A sarcastic little shit of a Scotsman, to be precise. Crowley had been a pain in Castiel’s ass from the minute they met a couple of centuries ago in the Scottish highlands, and he hadn’t stopped since.

“Castiel. So nice to see you, too,” Crowley drawled. “Still up to your old shenanigans? Ruined any lives lately?”

Castiel growled. The truth of Crowley’s taunting stung but he knew Crowley was just trying to get under his skin.

“It was your own greed that ruined your life and you know it, Crowley. I did warn you.”

Crowley just snorted. The discussion was an old one between them, hashed out in many a season they’d spent together in involuntary companionship. Crowley blamed Castiel for his predicament. Castiel knew he wasn’t guiltless, but he’d been only a tool in Crowley’s demise. The man had brought his fate on himself with his greed for power. Castiel shook his head, unwilling to delve into the old fruitless arguments again.

“Show him to me,” he murmured and drew a sigil on the mirror‘s surface, the tip of his sharp black fingernail leaving a fiery trail. Crowley’s face wavered, a snarl on his lips, but he couldn’t disobey the command. The image dissolved into blurry colors, then the mirror brightened.

The young man ran. He skidded around corners, slid under tables laden with fruit and household wares, dodged angry passersby who shook their fists and yelled after him. The royal guards were in hot pursuit, and they didn’t care about collateral damage as they chased the thief.

Dean panted as he cut a corner, close, too close. He almost lost his footing and crashed into a wagon laden high with melons. He barely managed to dodge the obstacle, scraping an arm in the process. Dean knew the marketplace like the back of his hand, but unfortunately so did the royal guards. Some stall owners tried to grab onto him as he ran past, while others, who recognized him, helped him discreetly by stepping into the guard’s path. People didn’t like thieves a whole lot in this part of town, but Dean often gave freely of his spoils to the ones that needed it the most, and that had won him a lot of friends. Many of these people had seen Dean and his brother grow up on the streets. When they’d been younger, some of them had given them a scrap now and then, feeling sorry for the young orphans. Everyone was just trying to survive, now more than ever.

He could feel the small satchel dangle from his belt as he desperately tried to keep his hold on the loaf of bread and the bag of fruit in his arms. Sam hadn’t eaten since yesterday; if he didn’t get this food to his little brother, chances were high they’d both go hungry for another day. Sam was a growing boy, all hair and gangly limbs. He needed the nutrition. Dean knew his little brother was always hungry these days.

Dean spied an open doorway and darted through, knowing the back door opened up into an alleyway where he might just lose his pursuers. He burst out the back door—and tripped over the shaft of a halberd strategically shoved between his legs.

Dean went down, hard. He lost his grip on the food and it tumbled onto the dirt of the alleyway, but that was the least of Dean’s problems. Scrambling, he turned around and found himself face to face with Uriel, the sadistic leader of the palace guards. Handpicked by the Vizier, the palace guards were a special kind of nasty, and Dean had really hoped to evade them today.

“What have we here. Looks like we caught ourselves a little rat.” Uriel sneered.

The three other guards flanking him snickered. Uriel dismissively kicked the loaf of bread with his sandal clad foot, and Dean could only grit his teeth while Uriel’s pale eyes flickered with grim joy.

“Dean. Up to your usual tricks again, I see. I thought I told you the last time what would happen if I caught you stealing again.” Uriel pointed the sharp tip of his halberd at Dean’s belly, nudging him. Dean slowly raised his hands, trying not to make any sudden movements.

“It’s only a loaf of bread, Uriel,” he said, hoping to placate the guard even though he knew it was futile. “I wouldn’t have taken it if we weren’t starving, I swear.” Dean knew that Uriel knew about Sam. He really wished the guard had never found out about Dean’s weakness, but wishing had never worked out too well for Dean before.

“Aw. He’s only doing it to feed his poor little brother. Isn’t that heartwarming, guys?” Uriel sneered. “Do you think you can fool me so easily, Dean? Taking food from hard working folks would be bad enough, but… I know what you’ve really been up to.”

The guard deftly moved his halberd and cut the string of the satchel hanging from Dean’s belt. Dean swore loudly as the little pouch fell to the floor and coins spilled out.

Uriel raised an eyebrow. “Only stole that money for your poor, starving, orphan brother too, huh?”

“You know exactly why I stole that money, you asshole,” Dean hissed, glancing at the other guards. “You promised you’d give it back if I brought you three silver!”

Uriel’s smirk never wavered. “Give what back? Oh, the contraband I took off you the last time we had one of our delightful little chitchats?”

“It’s not contraband, you slimy toad, it’s my property! You promised you’d give me the amulet back!” Dean was seething.

Uriel idly scratched his beard, visibly pretending to think about it. “Huh. I really don’t recall making any such promise. It’d be highly illegal for me to do that, too. And everyone knows I would never do anything illegal, isn’t that right, men?” The other guards smirked and murmured assent, clearly in on their leader’s little schemes. Uriel made a dismissive gesture. “That amulet proved to be worthless anyways. I threw it away days ago.”

Dean gasped, eyes going wide. Uriel smirked, knowing exactly how much he’d gotten under Dean’s skin.

“Now, I believe another lesson is in order. I shall be taking these stolen goods into my custody and will return them to their rightful owner.”

Dean knew exactly where those coins would end up—in Uriel’s purse, with a small cut for his partners in crime. The guard knew that Dean knew, too, and also, that Dean was absolutely powerless to do anything about it. Uriel sure loved abusing the little people unable to fight back. It made Dean almost too angry to think straight. The palace guard was a grimy example of everything that was wrong with this city and its leadership.

“Men, our little thief here needs another lesson. Kindly see to it that he gets educated. Just don’t kill him… yet.” Uriel laughed.

Dean scrambled back as the three guards advanced on him with cruel laughter.

“Enough!” Castiel slammed his fists on the floor in frustration, creating a hollow boom that echoed throughout their prison. He’d watched through the mirror as Dean was badly beaten. He’d known that Dean had had it rough before they even met, but to see it like this, unable to help, unable to do anything about it… Castiel’s power flared, the scriptures on his body glowing brightly. His magic hummed, ready to lash out and obey a wish, but there was nothing Castiel could do about it. Even bound to the Power of Fate, with all of its constrictions imposed on him so many millennia ago, changing the past was beyond him.

Crowley’s smirking face reappeared in the mirror. “Didn’t like what you saw? Who’s that guy then? Someone else you screwed over? Why are you so desperate to see him, Blue?”

“That’s none of your business, Crowley!” Castiel snarled. He’d known that anything Crowley might show him would most likely be useless. It was the curse that came with Crowley’s last wish, a punishment for his greed. Castiel had long wondered if it was also a punishment for himself. Now he was sure. The Powers of Fate were a fickle mistress and Castiel’s and Crowley’s destinies were inexplicably tangled, much as they both loathed the fact.

Castiel eyed the mirror from the corner of his eyes. Did he dare try it once more? Even knowing what he might see would likely only add to his distress?

But if it meant seeing Dean again, even a past version of him… Looking at Dean’s past felt like a violation of his privacy, and yet, and yet. Castiel couldn’t just sit here doing nothing. Maybe watching the events of the past unfold would give him some clue, some idea how to break out of his predicament. Maybe some idea would come to him on how to save Dean. Castiel never worried about saving himself. Dean was much more important. And Castiel knew well the kind of danger Dean and his family would be in right now.

He had to help him somehow.

“Show me more.” Castiel silenced any protest Crowley might be about to give with another commanding sigil, drawn in fire across the mirror’s surface, and again the image inside wavered and changed.

Dean sat contemplating long after Sam had fallen asleep. They were holed up in the ruins of a house that had fallen into disrepair decades ago. It offered very little protection, but it was better than nothing. At least no one would chase them out of this dump, provided they didn’t draw attention to themselves.

Dean stared desolately at the small piece of bread in his hand. His body still ached from the brutal beating he’d received, but he hoped he’d been able to hide the worst of it from Sam. Crawling in the dirt after the guards were through with him for what was left of the bread was almost as bad as taking that beating in the first place, but Dean didn’t have much of a choice... nor much pride left. He’d cleaned the bread as best he could and given the undamaged part to Sam. After all that, the worst part was knowing that Sam cried himself to sleep because he was so hungry.

Dean didn’t know what to do anymore.

Since the Vizier had doubled the numbers of the royal guard, increased taxes, and put into effect all of those new laws, living on the streets had become much harder. Average folks weren’t as forgiving anymore as they too struggled under the load put onto their shoulders. For a well-known ne’er-do-well like Dean, it was hard to find honest work anyways, but now it had become impossible.

He’d done his best to shelter Sammy from the worst of it. The kid liked to spend his days at the scriptorium, watching the scribes and the scholars at work and absorbing knowledge like a sponge, but he was too young yet to really contribute to their livelihood. At least not in any way that Dean would actually allow. Sam was meant for better things than thieving and... the other questionable things Dean had been forced to do ever since their father had just packed up one night and vanished.

Speaking of questionable things... Dean would have to resort to some of those now if he wanted to keep them from starving. Dean stood, wincing at the way his body ached. He’d ache more and in different places before the night was over. He was only grateful that Uriel and his goons hadn’t damaged his face too much. It was his only redeeming quality after all.

Leaving Sam behind, sleeping and defenseless, always put Dean on edge, but he simply had no choice. All he could do was hope that no one would come snooping around this desolate place during his absence.

Dean squatted next to his sleeping brother, gazing fondly at Sam’s unruly mane. He drew the ratty old blankets up to keep Sam from getting chilled and to hide him from view better, then tousled Sam’s hair affectionately. Sam snuffled and wrinkled his nose in his sleep and Dean’s heart almost burst with love for his peculiar little brother, who was smart as a whip and already growing up so fast. He always told Dean: “It’s Sam, not Sammy! Sammy’s a little kid and I’m not a kid anymore, Dean!” During waking hours, Sam would likely not allow such affections anymore, but at night he still snuggled up to his big brother, seeking safety and warmth.

Dean would do anything to protect Sam.

Determined, he stood and made his way out of the ruins. He stopped at a small fountain to wash off the worst of the grime and stared at his reflection in the water to ascertain whether he looked—well if not presentable, then at least not repulsive. The people he dealt with didn’t care much about his clothes, they only cared about his lips and hands and other assets.

Dean slowly made his way across town to the seedier districts, the ones he kept Sam as far away from as possible. He gave the brothels a wide berth because their owners didn’t take kindly to competition.

He set up in a dark alley behind some taverns. The place was well known for the kind of activities Dean was seeking to engage in, and he was familiar enough with this place to feel a bit safer.

Dean didn’t have to wait long. Footsteps approached the place where he had placed himself in the circle of light spilling out from the back door of a rowdy tavern. Dean did his best to seem inviting and approachable, pursing his lips and casting sultry looks into the darkness still hiding the stranger. The footsteps faltered briefly, then the person walked forward confidently. When they entered the circle of light, Dean saw it was a man, middle-aged, on the short side. His curly hair was receding and he had the look of a bookish man about him. A scholar, maybe? Perfect. His well-made clothes screamed money too. So, someone with money who wasn’t a threat? Jackpot.

“Hey there, you looking for something?” Dean put on his best flirtatious smirk. As the guy stepped closer, he had to repress a shudder. In the light of day he’d never give this toady little guy any attention, but in the dark of the night, well. Thankfully Dean wouldn’t have to look at the guy’s face too much if everything went according to plan.

“And what if I am?” The man looked Dean up and down with barely concealed appraisal.

“Then I might just be the guy you’re looking for,” Dean said and sauntered closer. “Okay, let me make myself clear. One copper gets you my hand, two gets you my mouth. For three I’ll even call you whatever the hell you want during. Deal?”

“Interesting.” The man smirked in a truly unsettling way and Dean suddenly got a bad feeling about this. Maybe he’d made the wrong call… “And what would five gold get me?”

Dean’s brain screeched to a halt. Five gold? He’d never even seen so much money in his life. There was a hundred copper to one silver and a hundred silver again to one gold so he’d have to do… wow, a hell of a lot for even one gold. Five gold would clothe and feed Sam for at least a year, maybe more.

“I, um, I… five gold? You… you have that much money on you?” he asked weakly.

The man’s smile widened predatorily and he stepped closer. Dean instinctively took a step back. The man’s eyes had a weird intensity to them... it was a little like looking at a snake.

“Oh, I do. And there’s more where it came from. So, I’ll ask you again, Dean… what would you do for that kind of money?”

“How do you know my name?” Dean was freaking out. He had the strong urge to run, but something kept his feet rooted to the spot.

“That’s not important. What is important is that I have a business proposal for you, Dean. One that would be very beneficial to both of us. You see, I am in need of a thief.”

The man looked and sounded confident. He had money. And so Dean listened.


	2. Chapter 2

“Don’t listen to him, Dean!” Castiel howled in rage. Of course, his words never reached the fading vision in the mirror. Crowley’s face flickered into view again. He looked thoughtful for once.

“Him, huh? Well, if he’s involved in this mess, that explains your special interest, Feathers. Fuck, I hate that guy.”

Castiel could only nod. It was the one thing they’d always been in agreement about.

Castiel took a deep breath, to calm himself down. What happened, happened. It could not be changed. And the events he’d just seen, jarring as they were, were long past. Dean never had to resort to that kind of thing again, Castiel had tried to make sure of that. At least… he had up to now.

Who knew what was happening out there with Castiel incapacitated in here.

But thinking like that didn‘t solve anything. Castiel could see no other way than to continue doing what he‘d started—namely, look at past events and try to figure out something that might help him break out or defeat their adversary.

“Can‘t you show me anything more recent?” he asked Crowley, who was back to his usual smug expression. Castiel hated how pleading he sounded and sure enough, Crowley‘s smirk widened accordingly.

“Hmm, maybe I could, but what would be in it for little ol‘ me?” he asked, rubbing his grimy little hands.

Castiel had never wanted to strangle him more. "How about I don‘t smash your stupid mirror on this very floor?“ he asked instead, and watched with satisfaction how Crowley paled.

“You wouldn‘t!” But Crowley’s voice wavered, unsure.

He was right to be worried. Castiel had a vindictive streak a mile wide, and he‘d thrown a couple of pretty nasty temper tantrums during his long life. Yet he had no intention of following through with his threat.

Castiel shrugged, his wings twitching along with the movement of his shoulders. "Only one way to find out, is there.“

Crowley grumbled obscenities under his breath, but complied. This time, the mirror‘s surface changed without Castiel having to do anything.

Dean looked at the entrance of the cave with a frown. The dark opening seemed pretty foreboding.

“Right, let me repeat this one more time.” He rubbed his eyes, still wondering if what he was about to do would turn out to be epically stupid. “You want me to walk into this… this so called 'Cave of Wonders' and retrieve… what? A lamp? And once I hand the lamp to you you‘ll pay me five gold for it. Did I get that right? And why can‘t you go and get the thing yourself, again?”

The scribe, as Dean had taken to calling him since the man still hadn‘t offered him a name, sighed.

“Have you been listening at all to what I told you?” he said.

Dean really hadn‘t. He‘d pretty much stopped listening after the guy offered him more money than Dean could really imagine. The scribe had prattled on all throughout their journey into the desert. Luckily, the cave entrance wasn‘t all that far from the town, but it was well hidden in a maze of hills and cliffs.

“Fine, I shall repeat myself one more time. Pay attention!” The man snapped, and Dean actually tried to listen this time.

“ _This_ is the Cave of Wonders. It can only be entered by certain _special_ individuals. You are one such individual. If I were to try and enter the cave, I would just wander in the dark, lost forever. You however, will be able to enter the cave proper. Inside, you will find all kinds of treasures and wonders, but, and this is of the utmost importance, you must not touch any of it!”

The scribe‘s shrill voice was giving Dean a headache. Wonders and magic, bah. He didn‘t believe in any of it, but was willing to indulge this rich lunatic. He‘d never have followed the guy out into the desert if he wasn’t sure he could take him down in a fight. And if Dean wasn‘t so desperate, that too. Dean just hoped the man really had the gold he promised.

“… if you touch anything else but the lamp, understood?”

“Yes, yes. So, I go in, I grab the lamp, I get back out, hand you the lamp, and you give me the gold. You know, I‘d actually like to see some of that gold beforehand.” Dean might be desperate but he wasn’t stupid.

The scribe made a disgusted noise, but he dug in his pockets and tossed two large golden coins at Dean who hastily scrambled to catch them. Dean tested the coins, then pocketed them when he was sure they were the genuine thing.

“Here, take this too.” The scribe handed Dean a large, ornate golden ring and Dean eyed it in wonder. That thing alone was easily worth ten gold. "It‘s for your protection and I expect it back once you‘ve completed your task.“

“Sure buddy, whatever. Can I go now?“

The scribe rolled his eyes. “Fine. Be careful and remember, don‘t touch anything but the lamp.”

Dean didn‘t even offer a response. Instead, he ignited the torch the scribe had provided and walked into the cave entrance.

It was just as dark inside as it had looked from outside. The flickering light off the torch painted all kinds of scary shadows on the walls, but Dean ignored them and walked on. Thankfully, the cave seemed straightforward, without any side arms or passageways. Dean walked for a few minutes, the path leading him steadily downwards. Slowly, a golden light started to glow in the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until the torch wasn‘t even necessary anymore. Then Dean rounded one last bend and his jaw dropped.

Before him, the cave opened up and it truly was a Cave of Wonders, and not just because the walls magically glowed by themselves. Everywhere Dean looked, huge piles of gold and treasure were strewn throughout the cave. He passed delicately carved golden statues, piles of coins, cascades of precious stones. There were overflowing chests with jewellery, beautifully carved furniture fit for a king, and bolts of the most delicate silk and precious brocade flowing out of baskets. Dean could barely take it all in. Never could he have even imagined such riches.

Dean‘s fingers itched. Just a few pieces of this would buy him and Sammy a lifetime of luxury. But he remembered the scribe‘s warning and refrained from giving into temptation.

Unfortunately, it proved no easy feat to find a single lamp in a large cave overflowing with treasure. Belatedly it occurred to Dean that maybe asking for a more detailed description might have been a good idea. He looked around but couldn‘t see anything resembling a lamp. Since the scribe had warned him adamantly about not touching anything, he guessed digging through the chests wasn‘t required. Dean mentally shrugged and left the torch in a sconce before he trudged on.

He had only been told not to touch, but looking was fair game, and Dean feasted his eyes on all of the wonders the cave had to offer. There were swords and delicately made weapons of all kinds, precious armor encrusted with jewels, even clothes and precious gear for horses. A beautiful glove for hawk hunting was placed right next to a silken scarf so finely woven it was see-through. The Cave seemed to go on forever too. After Dean had been exploring for what felt like hours, he finally arrived at a part way in the back – and that‘s where he found it.

On a pedestal sat an otherwise unremarkable lamp made from some dark metal. It was only noticeable because it wasn’t decked out in gold and jewels like the rest of the treasures. It looked out of place in this tableau of precious things. But it was the only thing resembling a lamp Dean had seen so far, so surely that must be it. Dean slowly walked closer. The lamp still looked innocent and worthless. Why did the scribe want this old dirty thing out of all the riches in this place? Well, Dean didn‘t need to understand it. He was paid to do a job and he‘d do it.

With a shrug and his heart beating hard he reached out and snatched the lamp. He waited with bated breath for anything out of the ordinary to happen. When no guards turned up to yell at him and magical retribution failed to appear, he tucked the lamp away under his tunic and started his way back past the piles of treasure with a sigh of relief. Easiest fucking money he‘d ever earned.

Dean had planned to leave the cave straight away. Really. But as he was walking past the chests with the jewelry, something caught his eye and he stopped to look with a gasp of surprise. Between pearl necklaces and crowns, brooches with rubies the size of Dean‘s fist and golden rings, the amulet seemed a little out of place. Yet Dean would know it anywhere.

“But… how‘d you end up here, then?” he wondered aloud as he eyed the innocent-looking thing.

The last time he‘d seen it, Uriel had snatched it from Dean‘s neck, claiming that surely it was stolen. Dean had protested, saying it was a family heirloom—given to baby Sam by their mother as a protection against evil spirits, and Sam had given it to Dean on his fourteenth birthday, knowing it was the only thing left of their mother and how much it meant to Dean. Of course Uriel hadn‘t given a shit about that.

Dean eyed the amulet nervously. The scribe‘s warning still echoed in his head but… surely this was different, right? Surely finding the amulet here, of all places, was a sign from a higher power. It was clearly meant for Dean.

“Look, uh… powers that be, it‘s not stealing when it already belongs to me, right? Look, I‘m not taking any of the other stuff, but this is mine. So it‘s only fair if I take it back, yeah?” Dean called out nervously into the echoing cavern. Nothing stirred at his call. With trembling fingers, he reached out for the amulet.

The tips of his fingers had barely grazed the leather cord when a loud rumble filled the cavern. Startled, Dean grabbed the amulet and looped the cord over his head. The floor beneath his feet began to shake.

“Oh shit. I guess that‘s a ‘No!’ then!” Dean wasted no more time, falling into a sprint immediately. He quickly made his way past the shifting piles of treasure. The earthquake or whatever it was had them shaking and falling, cascades of coins pouring across his way and making him slip. Dean ran like he‘d never run before, aiming for the winding path leading out of the cave. The walls were shaking too and as Dean watched in horror, the Cave's roof was slowly caving in.

“Shit, shit, no, no, no…” he chanted and sped up, but he wasn’t fast enough. Before he‘d reached the passage, falling boulders were blocking his way. A cloud of dust billowed out, making Dean cough and shield his eyes. The rumbling had stopped and when the dust dissipated, Dean saw that the entrance was now blocked as tightly as if it had never been there in the first place.

Desolate, he crumpled to the floor. Dammit. He‘d been warned not to touch anything but he hadn’t listened and now… now Sam would wake up and wonder where his brother was, and he’d never find out.

Dean wiped his eyes in fury. No! There had to be some way out of this. He wasn‘t prone to giving up this quickly.

Dean started with investigating the former entrance, but he found it tightly blocked with boulders of a size he would never be able to move on his own. He shuffled methodically around the cave but quickly found that it had no other exits. Not even any cracks that looked like he might be able to squeeze through. Already, the air seemed to become stale and oppressive, and Dean had a sinking suspicion that he might suffocate before he could starve or die of thirst.

He finally sat down at one of the chests, sighing and looking darkly at the countless treasures surrounding him.

"At least I‘ll have a spectacular grave,” he said sarcastically, to no one in particular.

Absentmindedly Dean worried the ring on his finger, then looked down. "And what‘s with you,  anyways. Weren’t you supposed to protect me?“ he asked, removing the offensive thing and throwing it away.

The ring made a clinking noise as it hit some coins – then suddenly a plume of smoke arose from its middle. Before Dean‘s astounded eyes, the smoke molded itself into the form of a beautiful, voluptuous woman. Her skin had a reddish glow, and while Dean stared at her in wonderment, her eyes flicked to solid black. Her dark curls flowed freely over her shoulders. She put a hand on her hip and regarded Dean, who was rising from his seat in surprise, with a sarcastic expression.

Dean gaped at the woman. “Whoa! Who are you? Where did you come from? _What_ are you?”

“My name’s Meg. And you... must be the _worst_ thief I have ever witnessed.” She looked around, scowling in clear exasperation.

“Geez, strange smoke lady, what business is it of yours?” Dean wasn’t about to be insulted by some weird apparition clearly conjured by his already air-deprived brain.

“Sadly, it is my business, since I was tasked to make sure you succeed in your mission,” Meg said with a bored drawl. She looked around again, taking in the state of the cave. "Typical. He just had to choose the one place that’s pretty much immune to my powers. This place‘s so steeped in magic that it feels like peeing in an ocean.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Alright, I'll bite, Meg, if that‘s really your name. So what exactly are you? I saw smoke coming out of that ring and then… you. Are you… a shaitan?”

“Don‘t get your panties in a twist, pretty boy. I‘m an Ifrit and I‘m bound to the ring.”

Dean frowned. "An Ifrit? Isn‘t that some kind of low level Djinn? Hey, does that mean I get a wish?”

“In your dreams, idiot. You‘re not the owner of the ring, so I owe you nothing at all. And who are you calling low-level here?”

“Touchy, aren’t we. Doesn’t really fill me with confidence about your powers.“ Dean was still trying to absorb the fact that apparently things like Ifrits really existed, but after everything he’d experienced so far in the Cave of Wonders, it didn’t seem that far fetched. “So… if you’re here to help me, does that mean you can get me out of here?”

Meg looked around, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’m not here to help you, loser, I’m here to make sure the lamp gets out of this damn cave. Lucky for you that translates into helping you right now. Let’s see… Ah, that’ll work.” She walked over to a part of the cave that had precious carpets of all colors and varieties stacked high.

Frowning, she eyed them until she seemed to find what she was looking for. “Alright, here’s what you’re going to do. I want you to grab that carpet over there and be ready to do exactly what I tell you to, when I tell you. Got it?” She pointed at a gorgeous carpet made from black silk that had ivory patterns woven into it.

Dean scowled. “Can’t you just, I dunno, snap your fingers and bring us out of here?”

“If I could do that, I would. This place is nigh impenetrable to magic, even of the highest order. Which is exactly why the lamp was hidden here.”

“But… if it’s your mission to get the lamp out, how do I know you won’t just steal it from me and abandon me here?” Meg’s face darkened and Dean had a gleeful suspicion.

“Wait, you can’t, can you? If you could, you wouldn’t even have offered to get me out. Come to think of it, you clearly work with the toady scribe guy. If you were able to retrieve the lamp for him, he’d never have had to send me. I’m right, ain’t I. You both need me.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh. The sorcerer couldn’t have found anyone less annoying to do his dirty deeds? Very clever, streetrat. Yes, neither I nor the sorcerer would be able to enter the cave proper, and I can’t carry the lamp seeing as I am bound myself. Now do you want to chit chat some more or shall we get out of here?”

“Fine. Just keep in mind that you need me to do get the lamp out of here, so better keep me safe, lady.” Dean smirked. He made sure the lamp was still securely tucked into his tunic, then he walked over to the pile of carpets. The black carpet was one of the topmost in the pile so he reckoned he’d be able to tug it out easily. Dean grabbed a corner of the carpet when suddenly the scribe’s—or sorcerer’s, as Meg had called him—warning came back to him.

“Wait, isn’t this a bad idea…?”

It was already too late. The cave started shaking again, even louder this time, while debris rained down from the ceiling. Panicked, Dean drew back from the carpet, but Meg was suddenly right next to him.

“No dawdling now! Grab that carpet and step onto it!”

A boulder fell not too far from where they were standing and Dean didn’t see much choice but to obey her orders. He pulled the carpet free and, wondering what good it would do, did as she’d told him. Meg stood next to him, her eyes glowing as she spoke words in a language Dean had never heard before, and suddenly the carpet lurched under his feet.

“Whoa, what the… “ but he never got to finish the sentence as the carpet took flight. Dean immediately dropped to his knees and held onto the carpet’s sides for dear life, terrified now not only of the cave in but also of falling off the _flying carpet_ this crazy smoke lady had put him on.

“Hold on, we’re getting out of here!” said lady screamed above the ruckus of the cave-in, and then they were off, surging past falling rocks and narrowly dodging huge boulders. The whole cave seemed to be coming down this time and briefly Dean thought that this was it, this was the end, Sam would never know what happened to his big brother—when suddenly they dove through a cloud of dust, and the blessed, clear night sky broke out above them.


	3. Chapter 3

Of course Castiel had known that Dean would escape the Cave of Wonders unharmed; he knew from personal experience how the story continued afterwards. Still, he had to force his hands to unclench when Dean and Meg narrowly escaped certain doom. Castiel had been aware of Meg’s involvement in the whole thing, but he hadn’t truly processed up to now that Dean was only alive thanks to her. His feelings towards Meg were complicated at the best of times, but knowing she’d helped Dean did certainly warm his heart to her. He’d have to thank her, provided they ever met again.

“Wow, that was exciting! Gold and adventure and flying carpets, oh my!” Crowley seemed giddy. He’d likely hadn’t gotten this much entertainment in the past couple of decades. “So what happens next? They made it out of the cave, but I’m guessing the lamp did not end up with … what did Meg call him, the sorcerer? Personally I like _toady little scribe guy_ better, but alright. Come on, Feathers, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Do you ever just shut up?” It was a rhetorical question, of course, as Castiel had several centuries worth of experience to the contrary. He was getting more frustrated by the minute. Of course he knew what happened next, after all he'd been present—for most of it. And the rest he could imagine from what he knew of Meg and Dean. And none of it felt helpful at this point.

“Nope. I’m curious now. You know I can only watch things when someone else is present. I gotta learn the rest of the story now. From the way you’re fidgeting, I’m guessing it’s a good one. Spill, Blue!”

Castiel crossed his arms and stubbornly shook his head. That first meeting between him and Dean wasn’t one of his proudest moments. He refused to play Crowley’s stupid games. Unfortunately, the magic mirror just cackled.

“Fine, be that way. As long as you’re watching. Let’s see, they were escaping from the cave on the magic carpet… what happens next? Oh, here we go…” This time, Crowley drew the sigil himself, on the inside of the mirror’s surface. It worked because despite his resolutions, Castiel couldn’t help but watch.

Dean stumbled off the carpet and immediately threw up behind a bush. He emerged, pale and shaking, eyeing the carpet distrustfully. Meg at least had the good grace to hide her laughter.

“That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me and that’s saying something.” Dean finally groused once he felt put together enough to form words. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him but luckily the lamp was still safe. He drew it out and looked at the sad scuffed thing.

“All that for a stupid lamp. What’s so special about it anyways?” he wondered aloud.

Meg tapped a finger against her red lips and smirked. “That’s the 100 gold-piece question isn’t it. Really makes you wonder why the sorcerer wants that thing so badly, doesn’t it?”

Dean squinted at her. “You know, don’t you,” he said flatly. “Wait, didn’t this sorcerer guy—seriously, are you sure he’s a sorcerer? He didn’t really look like some master of the arcane arts to me. Anyways, wasn’t it your task to bring the lamp to him? Where is he?”

“Ah.” Again the Ifrit smirked. “Well, that’s not entirely true. See, here’s the thing about wishes. You have to be really careful how you word them. He tasked me with making sure the lamp made it out of the cave, which I have done. But I had no intention to let him have it. I only wanted it out.”

Dean didn’t really get it, but sure, why not. “Great. So that’d makes me the proud owner of an old lamp. You do know he offered me a lot of gold for this, don’t you?”

“Gold? You’re even more of an idiot than I took you for if you think any amount of gold that charlatan could offer would be worth more than this. Do you really have no idea what you’re holding in your hands?”

Dean glanced at the lamp. It still looked like junk to him. “You obviously know something I don’t. So why don’t you tell me, oh mighty and powerful Ifrit?”

Meg sighed in exasperation. “This is the fabled magic lamp, streetrat.” Obviously she was expecting Dean to be impressed, judging from the flourish she did as she said that. He just looked at her blankly.

“Oh for … THE magic lamp! The one that made Saladin king? The one that helped Ali-Baba defeat the thieves? THAT magic lamp.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He dimly remembered hearing the tales of the fabled magic lamp, home to a powerful Djinn that would grant any wish. If this was truly that… then no amount of gold the sorcerer could pay him would be enough.

“If this is… why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?” Life had taught Dean that nothing good ever came for free.

Meg shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

“Hm, not suspicious at all. So how do I activate this thing?” Dean shook the lamp for good measure, then knocked on it, hoping to wake up the Djinn inside.

“Not like that, stupid. Djinn like to be courted, you know.”

Dean didn’t like the expression on Meg’s face one bit, but he didn’t have much of a choice. She obviously knew more about this than him. “Courted? You mean I should like... flirt with this thing?”

Meg snickered and shook her head. “Nah. In order to bring forth the Djinn you need to kiss the lamp.”

Dean stared at her incredulously. Surely that was a jest. “Kiss it.” he said flatly. “Really?”

“Yep. I swear by my scarlet booty. You need to kiss it.”

Dean sighed, but figured it was worth a try. It was just a lamp, after all. No biggie.

Raising an eyebrow at the Ifrit he slowly brought the lamp up to his face, then gave it a quick peck. Then he waited with bated breath.

Nothing happened.

“You call that a kiss? I said the Djinn expects to be courted. Seduced. If that’s all you got, you’ll never tease it out.” Meg was clearly having way too much fun with this. “Come on, doll face. Give it your best shot.”

Dean sighed. Hoping against hope that Meg wasn’t just egging him on, he brought the lamp up again and gave it a longer, more lingering kiss.

Nothing continued to happen.

“Honey, do I have to show you how? Come on, put some tongue in it. Show the Djinn how much you want it. Let those lips get some action!”

Dean blushed, but figured he’d already made a fool of himself twice, he might as well go all the way. After all, he knew how to fake it. Slowly, he brought his face close to the lamp once more, then put his lips on the cold, smooth metal. Hopefully someone had cleaned that thing before it landed in that cave. Dean closed his eyes and imagined he was kissing warm lips instead of cold metal. Imagined someone sharing their breath with him as he slowly, sensually moved against the metallic surface of the lamp.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit! Almost there! Castiel, you can come out now!” He heard Meg call and suddenly, the lamp grew warm in his hands.

Dean’s eyes popped open, lips still attached to the lamp. He saw a plume of smoke swirl out of the lamp’s snout and quickly transform into a solid form. Dean’s eyes widened, because damn, that form was a lot larger and more solid than he’d expected. He found himself face to face with a scowling man with powder blue skin. The Djinn, because that’s what he obviously was, was naked from the waist up, his impressive muscles on display. But the most striking aspect were the two large black wings that spread wide behind the Djinn’s back. Then Dean’s eyes met the Djinn’s, and he’d been wrong: the most striking aspect about the Djinn was obviously those piercing blue eyes.

The Djinn slowly raised an eyebrow and Dean realized that he was still sort of mouthing at the lamp. Hastily he lowered it, blushing fiercely. The Djinn scowled and shifted his piercing gaze to Meg. Dean saw those striking eyes widen in what might be surprise, then narrow again.

“Megara.” The Djinn’s voice sounded like the boulders back in the cave, all rough gravel. “Why am I not surprised to see you here.”

“Hello, Clarence.” Dean thought she’d called the Djinn by a different name before, but maybe he’d misheard.

"My name is Castiel, Megara. As you well know.” Ah, so Dean hadn’t misheard. He looked between the Djinn and the Ifrit who obviously knew each other well.

“As long as you insist on calling me Megara, I shall keep calling you Clarence.” Meg tilted her head in fake innocence.

“Very well, M… Meg.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard now.”

The Djinn inclined his head. “How did you manage to get into the cave?”

“Oh, it wasn’t me. It was him.”

The focus of the Djinn’s eyes returned to Dean and he felt pinned by those eyes. The Djinn regarded him for a moment and Dean felt as if he was being dissected down to his bones.

“A righteous soul. I didn’t think you’d ever find one to do your bidding.” The Djinn sounded begrudgingly impressed, and while Dean had no idea what this righteous soul crap was about, he was tired of being talked about as if he were some kind of simpleton or possibly a thing. So he gathered his courage and confronted the Djinn head on.

“My name’s Dean, and I’m your master now!“


	4. Chapter 4

“Holy shit!” Crowley couldn‘t stop laughing. “She really had him making out with your lamp? Almost gotta respect the bitch for that.”

Castiel felt a headache coming on. Crowley and Meg had never gotten along, thankfully. If they ever teamed up, Castiel would be in trouble.

Castiel met Meg first, many years ago in Greece. By the time he was summoned by a Scotsman thirsting for knowledge, he and Meg had already had their falling out and subsequent reacquaintance. For a while, she had been his companion, just like Crowley was now, and for similar reasons. So Castiel had to face the guilt of his cursed existence every single day.

It also reminded him that he was a prisoner once again, just as he‘d been for so long before, but even more powerless now that he wasn‘t shut away of his own accord.

Castiel had sequestered himself and the lamp in the Cave of Wonders for a reason. It had taken Meg’s dedication to break him out of his self-inflicted exile, and once again he‘d brought nothing but bad luck to people in the process. So far, seeing what had transpired hadn‘t netted Castiel anything but heartache. He thought it was the greatest irony of fate that he should be cursed to feel so deeply when Dean…

Castiel shrugged the thought off and returned his focus to the magic mirror. He knew of the events that had transpired, though the _kissing_ thing had been a new revelation. Maybe he‘d be able to glean some knowledge yet from seeing things play out from a different angle.

“You done sulking yet?” Crowley chimed in gleefully. “I can keep watching this without your input, but seeing you fidgeting has me thinking the next bit‘s gonna be just as juicy. Come on, Feathers, don‘t leave me hanging here. What did he do?”

Castiel sighed. Crowley wouldn‘t shut up until he got what he wanted and since there was nothing better to do… He stared at the magic mirror until Crowley went quiet with an anticipatory smile.

“My name’s Dean, and I’m your master now!”

Castiel stared at the brazen human until the man visibly wilted.

"Uh. At least I think I am?” Dean added uneasily.

In response, Castiel snapped his wings open and summoned his powers so that his eyes lit up and the golden scripture all over his skin began to glow. He knew the effect this usually had on humans. In his millennia of existence he‘d learned that intimidation was the best way to immediately put humans in their place, before they got the wrong idea. Trying to be friendly had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He remembered well how naive he‘d been and how the sorcerer had been able to lure him in that way, despite the other Djinns’ warnings. He’d thought himself smarter and stronger, unable to be tricked. He knew better now. Never again.

The human seemed slightly cowed but not in as much awe as Castiel would have expected. His display seemed to have the opposite effect actually—the more Castiel postured, the more the human drew himself up to his (impressive, for a scrawny human—he might actually have an inch or two on Castiel, much to the Djinn’s chagrin) height and returned Castiel’s stare defiantly.

Castiel abruptly folded his wings and let his power go.

“You are the owner of the lamp,” he begrudgingly admitted. He drew the line at calling anyone master unless forced by wish, though.

“Sweet.” The human—Dean—smiled. “So, how does this work? You’re a Djinn, right?”

“I am a Djinn, yes.”

“So how many wishes do I get?” Dean was rubbing his hands gleefully, apparently already making plans. Like every greedy human Castiel had ever met. No surprises here.

Actually, that wasn’t true. For Castiel could see this man’s soul, like all of his kind were able to, and he’d never seen a soul this bright and pure. No wonder the sorcerer had latched onto Dean to do his bidding. The Cave of Wonders could only be entered by the purest, most righteous souls, the ones that had no greed or falseness to them. Castiel had believed no soul like that was still in existence and thus thought himself safe, but now, staring at the bright light of this human...

“Hey, big blue guy?” Dean was snapping his fingers to get Castiel’s attention, annoying him even further. “I asked you a question? How many wishes do I get?”

Castiel’s wings flapped in annoyance, the resulting wind ruffling Dean’s hair. Dean’s eyes were stuck on Castiel’s wings for a moment, but then Dean’s attention shifted back to him and Castiel knew he wouldn’t get away with stalling anymore. The owner of the lamp unfortunately had a right to know these things, and Castiel was required to answer truthfully.

“There is no set limit. I’m one of the oldest Djinn in existence, I am not beholden to silly 'three wishes only' limitations,” he pressed between gritted teeth, seeing Dean’s eyes widen. Technically, it was true, too. Practically though… “However…”

“Boys,” a voice suddenly interrupted, “as much fun as watching you two hit it off has been, I must skedaddle.” Meg waved merrily. “I unfortunately have to return to the sorcerer.”

Dean looked a little panicked at that, but before he could speak, Meg continued. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m under no obligation to tell him anything, including where you and his precious lamp are. After all I am not a being of almost limitless power such as our dear Castiel here. The bastard only got to make one wish, and that was for me to make sure the lamp got safely out of the cave. Once I report the success of my mission, our contract is void and he can go fuck himself. No one else would, after all.”

“Meg…” Castiel eyed her. He knew it couldn’t be coincidence that she was involved in this. For a century after they met she had been just as pissed at him as Crowley was still—Meg could hold a grudge well—but then she’d accepted her fate. In the many centuries since she’d told him repeatedly that it wasn’t really his fault, that she’d brought it on herself, and when he’d decided to go into his self imposed exile to atone she’d been angry with him. He hadn’t let her anger sway him, but he also wasn’t surprised that she never stopped plotting how to get him to come back. Such was her way.

“No need to thank me, Clarence.” Meg shushed him with a finger to this lips. “We’ll meet again, don’t you worry.” She glanced at Dean as if she wanted to say something more, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, she kissed Castiel full on the lips, ignoring Dean’s gasp of surprise, then jauntily waved before dissolving herself and her ring into fiery smoke that rose into the sky and sped away.

Both Dean and Castiel stared after her, the latter with tingling lips. Dean was the first to shake himself out of his stupor. He turned to face Castiel and waggled his eyebrows.

“So, for my first wish…”

“Dean, wait, I have to tell you…!”

“... I want you to bring me to my brother Sam!” Dean finished and Castiel helplessly watched his magic respond to the command. His eyes, wings, and the magical scripture all lit up and he felt with dread the magic reach out and claim its price just as the wish was fulfilled.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel was jerked out of the memory by the pull of a summons. It happened every time someone touched the lamp and his true name was called and he couldn‘t resist it, try as he might. Such were the rules of his binding.

He wasn‘t surprised to find himself face to face with the person he loathed most in the world, the one responsible not only for his current predicament but also for the curse of his existence in the first place.

“Castiel. So good of you to join me,“ the sorcerer purred, rubbing the lamp in a disturbing manner that Castiel found wholly unsettling.

“Metatron,” Castiel answered flatly, merely acknowledging the man‘s presence. “What do you want.“ He looked around and realized that they were in Metatron’s secret hideout, a place stacked to the ceiling with magical artifacts and books. How Metatron had gotten hold of the lamp Castiel could only guess.

“Oh you know what I want, Castiel. I want what I’ve wanted from the start. You and I, together, ruling the world. Well, I‘ll rule and you‘ll help me. To be clear, there‘ll be no ruling on your part, just service, like any good little Djinn should serve their master.”

Castiel suppressed a shudder. Of course he knew what the slimy sorcerer wanted. Metatron had managed to lure him in with his honeysweet words and promises of a better world. The binding would give Castiel the power he needed to end mankind’s suffering, he‘d promised. Yes, it came with some limitations, but what were those when weighed against heaven on earth? And Castiel, brash and self assured and so naive, had believed him.

“You know the rules as well as I do. You may be able to summon me, but you are not the owner of the lamp. And as long as the current owner still has wishes left, the lamp is useless to you.”

“Of course, of course. Those silly rules. But dear sweet Dean can’t have many wishes left, can he. I‘ve been keeping an eye on you, you know. You didn‘t exactly keep a low profile, what with the business with the princess and everything. So I reckon he‘s got maybe... two, three wishes left in him, doesn‘t he. And you know how it‘ll end for him. Is that really what you want, Castiel? When have you ever brought anything but grief to anyone associated with you?”

Metatron‘s words were smooth and casually cruel. Castiel knew by now the poison masked by them. He should not allow it to trickle into his ears and mind ever again. Yet despite his resolve, Metatron’s words got him thinking. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure but he was afraid that Dean might not even have two wishes left. He could only hope the sorcerer wouldn’t find out.

“Even if I did want to help you—and for the record, I really don’t—I cannot. Without the lamp, Dean cannot make anymore wishes, which means I am rendered infinitely useless to you.” Castiel said smugly, crossing his arms. However, the sorcerer did not seem deterred.

“You don’t fool me, Castiel. You and I both know there’s ways to bend the rules. If you wanted, you could persuade him to forsake his last wishes. And really, would that not be so much better for him? You know what will happen once he uses his last wish. If you can make him stop now and forfeit his ownership of the lamp, I promise to you I’ll let him and his happy little family live in peace. He’ll marry his princess, they’ll have a score of kids, they can rule their kingdom and hand out gold to every widow and orphan for all I care. I can overlook one dirty desert kingdom. There’s bigger fish to fry out there.”

Castiel just stared impassively at Metatron, willing him to go away or at least allow Castiel to leave. His wings twitched in annoyance at even having to put up with this slimy bastard. Truly, if Castiel could have one wish himself it would be to render Metatron a stain on the pavement. That’d be a true service to mankind.

“Still so stubborn, I see. Well. While you’re here, playing hero, Castiel, your precious ‘master’ has his hands full with a little intrigue I’ve spun. Who knows, he might not live to see the end of this day. That’d be a solution to my troubles as well, wouldn’t it? Think about that for a while, Castiel. Be gone!”

Before Castiel could snarl the insult already on his lips, the lamp’s pull grabbed hold of him, drawing him back into his prison.

He landed inside the lamp’s non-space and immediately his powers conjured another tempest. Wind howled, thunder boomed, lightning sparked - all useless, fruitless. It didn’t even seem to cow Crowley, who, without someone to look into his mirror, was back to his usual self. Then again, Crowley had witnessed more of Castiel’s temper tantrums than any other living being. If an ageless magic mirror could be considered alive.

Once the storm had subsided, Crowley didn’t waste any time in speaking up.

“Judging from that spectacle I’m guessing you talked to the old toad. He’s the only one who can make you lose your cool like that, much as I wish I could claim that title. He’s up to his old tricks again, isn’t he.”

Castiel gracelessly dropped to the floor next to Crowley’s mirror, his wings drooping behind him. “He is indeed.”

“Still hellbent on world domination, then? Still wants you at his feet to do his bidding?”

Castiel only nodded.

“And let me guess, your pretty boytoy is in his way.”

“Dean’s not my…!” Castiel took a deep breath, trying not lose his temper yet again.

“Uhu, sure. I’ve known you for three centuries, Castiel, and I’ve never seen you this smitten with someone, but sure, he’s nothing special. Right. So what happened after Squirrel made his first wish? You didn’t even get to tell him about the little tiny drawback to those wishes, did you. Bet he was bummed when he found out.”

“You really don’t make me want to humor you, you know.”

“Come on, entertain me, Blue. You owe me that much.”

Sighing in defeat, Castiel drew the sigil.

“Of course it’s important, but just think of the good you could do, Dean! Everything else would just be selfish!”

“Why is us not having to beg and steal for food selfish, Sam? My first priority is taking care of you, not everyone else!”

“But just think, there’s so many people who have it worse…”

“Oh yeah? Name one! We’re pretty much bottom rung, Sammy, who says we don’t get to have a little luck in life for once? Just imagine, a house! All the books you can read! Enough food to last us a year!”

 “People are starving! We could stop it!”

 “Only if we’re not starving first!”

Castiel idly groomed his feathers as he listened to the brothers fight. Dean’s little brother Sam had recovered from the shock of  their magical appearance in the ruin remarkably fast. Dean had barely gotten the words ‘magical lamp’ and ‘wishes’ out before their heated discussion had started. Sam was throwing Castiel curious glances now and then but didn’t seem to be afraid, a fact which Castiel begrudgingly found impressive.

While the brothers argued and he couldn’t really get a word in edgewise, Castiel looked around. Dean really hadn’t joked when he’d proclaimed them bottom rung. Their shelter in the ruin was pitiful. The brothers didn’t own much, and what they had was broken, dirty and used. Even Castiel had to admit that someone living in so much squalor probably deserved a selfish wish or two. How anyone living under these circumstances could manage to remain such a pure soul was really a miracle.

And now that pureness was tarnished, thanks to Castiel. He could see it, the sooty spot marring the once perfect light of Dean’s soul, and the sight almost viscerally hurt him. It was just wrong to tarnish such perfection. 

“Aladdean Winchester! What would mom have said to that!”

Sam’s outburst piqued Castiel’s interest, especially since it seemed to have momentarily rendered Dean speechless.

“Aladdean?” Castiel raised a speculative eyebrow. Dean blinked at him as if he’d temporarily forgotten his presence.

“Uh, ‘s my name. But it’s kinda a mouthful so everyone just calls me Dean,” he mumbled. “Look, uh.. Castiel, was it? You said I don’t have any limit on wishes, right? So it doesn’t really matter what I wish for first, we can have everything, both the things I want and the things Sam wants, right?”

Castiel sighed internally, wondering whether he’d be forced to witness the further destruction of this righteous soul. At least now he’d be able to properly explain the rules to Dean.

“That’s not entirely correct. There’s no set limit, but that doesn’t translate to unlimited wishes.” He had the attention of both brothers now, Sam looked vaguely suspicious.

“I don’t understand. So how many wishes do I get?” Dean asked with a frown.

“I can’t tell you a number. The thing with wishes is this: The magic always comes with a price.”

“A price? What kind of price?”

Castiel paused for a moment, trying to think about how to best phrase this. No matter how many times he’d had to give this spiel, it never got easier, and humans never really seemed to grasp it.

“I cannot tell you.” Dean opened his mouth, looking annoyed, and Castiel hurried to continue. “I cannot tell you because I do not know. The magic chooses its own price, depending on the type and the magnitude of the wish. But I can tell you that the price will be taken out of your very soul,” he finished gravely.

That silenced both brothers for a few seconds as they thought about his words. Dean recovered first. “So when I wished for you to take me here…” 

“The magic chose its price and took it out of your soul, yes. I have no power over this process. I cannot stop it and I cannot choose what price the magic will claim. It might be a treasured memory, or a feeling, or something else that makes you... _ you _ . The more wishes you make and the bigger things you wish for, the more the magic will take from you. It will change you. Until you have nothing left to give, at which point the lamp will stop working for you.”

That prompted more contemplative silence from both brothers.

“Dean…” Sam sounded uneasy. “Maybe… maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe you shouldn’t wish for anything after all.”

Dean scratched his head. “Well, I don’t feel any different. And hey, you’re always telling me what a huge ego I have. Just gotta be smart about this, yeah? We’ll just have to make every wish count.” His daredevil attitude didn’t really fit the unease Castiel could see in every taut line of Dean’s body.

The brothers continued to argue about this for awhile, but in the end, Dean won out, mostly because Sam couldn’t suppress his desire to use the wishes for something good. He even offered to be the one to make the wishes, but Dean vehemently forbade it.

"No way!" he'd said and that had been that.

“Fine!” Sam finally relented. “But let’s be smart about this. Castiel? Are there any other restrictions on our wishes?”

Castiel was mildly impressed. Most humans didn’t bother to ask, preferring to find out via trial and error, and he didn’t have to offer the information unless prompted.

“There are a few, yes. There are some things I cannot do, such as change the past. Also, I have no power over life and death. You can’t wish anyone dead back to life and you can’t wish someone dead.” Both brothers looked disgusted at the mere thought, and Castiel found that reassuring. “I also can’t change the nature of the rules or their effect.”

Sam nodded. “Good, we can work with that. Dean, what do you want most?”

“For you to have a good life,” Dean answered at once. This impressed Castiel even more. Most people, when offered a wish, thought of themselves first. That Dean would think about his brother instead spoke well of his character and fit with what Castiel had seen of his soul.

“And with good life you mean…” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Come on, Sammy, you know what I mean. We live in a dump and eat garbage. I want you to have a good place to stay and healthy food and clothes that fit you, and all the books you want to read. You know this.”

Sam blinked, apparently humbled a little by his big brother’s concern for his well being. “I… Uh… thanks, Dean. And it’s Sam, you know that.” But the admonition sounded more mechanic than heartfelt. Castiel was fascinated with the brothers' relationship. He’d never encountered anything like it before.

“What would you wish for, if you could?” he asked Sam, genuinely curious about the answer.

Sam only had to think for a moment. “I’d wish for things to change in this place. The current ruler, the Vizier, Richard of the Romans, is an evil man. He’s spreading lies and falsehoods, he says he’s lowering taxes, but only the rich profit while the poor have to pay more. He claims the princess’ mother put him in charge, but everyone knows the sultaness and her consort didn’t die from natural causes. The princess recently came of age, but the Vizier won’t let her rule. He says she needs a husband. Rumor has it he’s gunning for the position himself. If we could put someone in power who’s smart and good, that would really change things around here for the better.”

Castiel nodded, once again surprised. For Dean to have an altruistic wish was already uncommon, but for Sam to have one, too … maybe, just maybe he’d actually be able to do good here by helping these brothers. Maybe for once his powers would cause the world to become better instead of bringing grief and destruction. Castiel had lost his faith in mankind during the past many centuries of his life, but now he felt a cautious flicker of hope.

“Sam, maybe we can do both things with one wish.” Dean suddenly sounded excited. He looked at Castiel with a hopeful expression. “There’s supposed to be a grand feast, where the princess will choose a suitor from among the noble and the rich. Djinn, if I were to wish for the princess to fall in love with me, would that work?”

Castiel answered at the same time Sam started with “Dean, no! That’s wrong!”

“I’m afraid that is impossible,” he said, a little disappointed. So Dean wasn’t perfect after all.

“I cannot make someone fall in love against their will. It would also be morally very dubious.”

“Oh.” Dean’s eyes widened as the implications of what he’d asked hit him. “Shit, no! I didn’t mean it like that! You’re both right, making someone fall in love with me by magic is awful! No, I just meant… can you give me the things I need to impress the princess? You know, clothes, gifts for her, all that stuff? Teach me royal etiquette? If I can impress her maybe she’ll like me and choose me as her suitor. Then Sam could live at the palace and study there. With how smart he is, I bet he’d be a terrific advisor who’d then have the power to really make things better.”

_ And what about you _ , Castiel wondered.  _ You’d be consort to the sultaness, do you even realize that?  _ Very likely, Dean really didn’t. Remarkable.

“This, I can do,” he said aloud. “Just say the word.”

“Great!” Dean was rubbing his hands while Sam still looked a little uneasy. Dean straightened and visibly tried to look respectable despite his shabby clothes and dirty skin.

“Oh great Djinn Castiel,” Dean began to say in what he clearly believed to be a dignified manner of speech. Castiel had to really pull himself together as to not laugh. “Hear my wish! I wish for you to make me into the perfect suitor for princess Celeste!”

Castiel felt the magic respond to Dean’s command, rising from the core of his grace to pulse through his blood and bones until it spilled out as a powerful light. It engulfed Dean entirely, too bright to see for a few seconds. When it receded…

When it receded, Dean stood there, still dirty and in his torn clothes. Nothing about his outfit had changed. 

He did make a stunning woman though, Castiel couldn’t help but notice. His magic had really outdone itself.


	6. Chapter 6

This time, when the summons came, it did not catch Castiel unaware. He appeared before Metatron and the lamp with a scowl on his face, wings folded tightly against his back, and the resolve to not let the sorcerer influence him again.

Metatron wore his usual smarmy expression, his half-lidded eyes studying Castiel intently.

“From the defiant way you’re glaring at me, I’m guessing you haven’t considered my offer, have you,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m not surprised. After all, you have a lot of exercise in braving solitary confinement. Solitary save for dear old Crowley of course. How’s the old coot faring these days?”

Castiel didn’t deign to answer. Forcing Castiel to share his lamp with Crowley had been Metatron’s idea of a joke. And despite the way they loathed each other—he wasn’t too proud to admit that Crowley’s presence had also saved him from going crazy in all those long years. Had given him something to occupy his mind with and keep his wit and hatred sharp.

“Just a gentle reminder, my dear: All you have to do to make everything better is just call me master.”

At that outrage, Castiel’s burning gaze slid back to Metatron and his glare intensified, if at all possible. “I have never, nor will I ever, call you master!”

Metatron laughed. “Indeed. You’ve dropped that habit a while ago. Oh, I remember how you were with your first master. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Whatever became of dear old Cain, hm? Didn’t he go on a murder spree at the end? Even killed his beloved wife, if I recall right. What a beautiful and befitting end for such a sanctimonious prick.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “And yet he was still a better, a greater man than you will ever be. Just like Dean is a better and more righteous man than you will ever be, no matter how the curse changed him. I’ll bet you regret it now, that you were too chickenshit to bind yourself to me that first time, aren’t you, Metatron. All of your pretty words back then aside, you really were just too unsure about the ancient Powers of Fate to experiment on yourself. Finding Cain must have been a godsend. But then, you were always good at finding people greater and better than you to do your dirty work. Because you’re a coward and a hack and you will never be great, never!” 

Castiel could tell that this time he’d managed to hit a nerve, as Metatron clenched his teeth in anger. 

“A better, more righteous man than me, hm? Shall we take a look at your righteous man, Castiel?” The sorcerer cackled maliciously. “Oh, I know you’ve probably been dying to see what happened to your beloved master and his family, haven’t you. So let’s get you up to date with current developments, shall we?”

Metatron snapped his fingers and Crowley’s mirror appeared with a surprised expression. Before Crowley could say anything Metatron drew a ring of black fire around him with a sigil inside. The air shimmered and sizzled, the mirror suddenly burning with black flames and in the black fire an image appeared. Castiel held his breath, staring transfixed.

It took a moment for the images to become clear but then he recognized Dean’s city. Buildings were aflame and in the streets raged a merciless battle. It looked like the palace guard was fighting the people, slaughtering them, though the citizens put up a valiant fight. The image moved, showing the palace gate. It had been destroyed and a battle was being waged in the courtyard. Castiel immediately recognized the figure at the back of the battle. The former Vizier, Richard, was directing his men to attack the palace. Not for the first time, Castiel cursed the fact that his magic was unable to properly kill someone.

Then he noticed something odd about the guards. They were stronger and faster than they should be, occasionally just tossing people aside, and their halberds… were they glowing?

“You had something to do with this,” he accused Metatron, who merely looked smug. 

“Of course. I found the Vizier wandering in the desert—not that clever after all to just exile him—and it turned out that large parts of the palace guard quite liked the former status quo where they got to beat people up and steal their money. Didn’t take much to persuade them to rebel against the princess and her mysterious fiancée from a faraway kingdom that no one had ever heard of before. The little bit of a magical boost was just the cherry on top.”

Castiel had never wanted to smash someone’s skull in as much as he did in this moment. Unfortunately, Metatron was still holding his lamp and that kept him safe from Castiel’s wrath. Of course he knew that, too.

The image in the black fire swept over the carnage and Castiel recognized a few of the courtiers, now dead and spilling their blood gracelessly across the marble pavement of the courtyard. And there, in the middle of the open space…

Dean looked nothing like the woman in worn clothes that Castiel had sen in the mirror just now. He was back to his usual body and the clothes he wore now were of fine make, bespoke, all silk and brocade, but that wasn’t what made the distance so striking.

When Castiel had first met Dean, his exterior had meant nothing to him. Neither the clothes, nor Dean’s extraordinarily pretty face and, for a human, striking physique, would have caught Castiel’s eye. It had been Dean’s shining soul, bright and pure, that had elevated him above all others. That was also what now made for the difference.

Dean basically oozed darkness. His aura was as black as Metatron’s magic, with blood red flashes hinting at his state of mind. Dean stood firm, the beautiful sword Cas had given him for the ceremonial duels at princess’ Celeste’s feast glinting in his sure grip. The blade was wet with blood. Behind Dean, Castiel could see young Samandriel, a shy but kind page from the palace, lying sightlessly, a broken halberd still sticking out of his mutilated chest. Dean didn’t seem to notice. He was transfixed on his foes, and when he sprang into motion, he turned into a whirlwind of steel and rage.

This magical vision didn’t come with sound, so Castiel could only imagine the scream of fury torn from Dean’s lips as he barrelled into this enemies, hacking left and right less like a man and more like an elemental force. Even the augmented guards stood no chance against him, their blood erupting in hot red fountains as Dean mercilessly tore through them.

It was too grueling a sight. Shuddering, Castiel averted his gaze. Metatron made a victorious sound, an ugly snort of gleeful laughter.

“Where’s your righteous man now, Castiel? You can’t even face the corruption you have wrought upon him. And you’re calling me a coward. Be gone, Castiel.”

Metatron’s sardonic smile was the last thing Castiel saw before the lamp pulled him back in.

Once he arrived in the metaphysical space of the lamp’s inner sanctuary, Castiel just sat down on the endless seeming floor. His wings instinctively made a cocoon around him, hiding him from the world as he buried his fingers in his hair and wept for a long time. For how long, he did not know. Time passed differently in the lamp than it did in the outside world.

Finally, sound began to filter through his grief. 

“..stiel? CASTIEL! Come on, notice me, buddy!” 

Castiel slowly folded his wings back, surreptitiously wiping his face. Crowley’s mirror,  _ sans _ black fire, lay on the floor, a few feet away, and Crowley’s face was so close to the surface that only his eyes, nose and mouth were visibly in excruciating detail. The unattractive sight helped bring Castiel back from the brink of desperation.

“There you are, Blue.” Crowley sounded strangely relieved. “Well, that was disgusting. Damn creep, using me that way. Ugh!” 

Castiel felt too wrung out to react to Crowley’s distress. His wings just drooped and he idly began tugging at some smaller feathers, plucking them out one by one.

“Seriously, Castiel. I’ve never seen you this way.” Crowley’s exasperated voice just made Castiel shrug. The man in the mirror sighed.

“Fine, be that way. But crying over spilled milk won’t help you nor him.” Crowley sounded almost kind. Castiel must be worse off than he thought, if he was hearing things that were clearly impossible.

“Come on, Blue. Maybe it’ll cheer you up to tell me the rest of the story, hm? You’d just gotten to the juicy part, after all. So the wish turned Squirrel into a lady squirrel? How’d that happen?”

Castiel seriously considered just banishing Crowley to the nether parts of the lamp but for all he could be abrasive, right now Crowley almost seemed like he cared. He shouldn’t be punished for that.

Sighing, Castiel dragged himself closer to the mirror and listlessly raised his hand to draw the sigil right on top of Crowley’s squinting face, but Crowley made an abortive motion with his hand. Castiel stopped, frowning.

“No, Castiel. Don’t show me. Tell me about it. I want to hear the story from you, without magic for once. Might be a good distraction, right?”

Castiel thought about it for a moment. He recognized a kindness when one was directed at him, though. Having to watch the rest of Dean's decline, again… Reluctantly at first, then with more confidence, he began to speak.


	7. Chapter 7

Several things happened all at once.

There was no other word for it—Dean shrieked. His eyes were wide as saucers, his hands were grabbing his quite ample breasts, and he looked like he was ready to faint. 

Sam, after a moment of wide-eyed consternation, started laughing helplessly.

Castiel, meanwhile, watched the light of Dean’s soul dim considerably and frowned.

“What in all seven deserts' names…!” Dean hollered. For a woman, his voice was still quite deep, a lovely contralto. He rounded on Castiel, pushing up into the Djinn’s personal space in a way that had Castiel blink in surprise. Humans rarely ever got this hands-on with him if they could help it—his otherness tended to make them uneasy.

“Is this your idea of a joke, Cas?” 

Castiel watched with fascination how Dean was still holding onto his breasts as if he was afraid they’d escape and start attacking him if he let them free. “I’ve already told you, I have little control over the outcome of a wish. The Power of Fate itself chooses what best fulfills the terms of any wish. You wished to be made into Princess Celeste’s perfect suitor. I have to assume this is it. If this outcome is not to your liking, I suggest wording your wish more carefully next time.”

Dean did not seem to like that answer. Huffing and growling he started pacing the ruin while his brother was still busy laughing his ass off. Sam finally recovered a bit.

“Well, I guess the princess has a type and your normal self isn’t it.” Sam chuckled. “Also, did you notice how the magic didn’t change your attire at all? Guess she cares more about the, ah, inner values.” Sam made a motion across his chest and couldn’t help cackling again at the absolutely venomous glare directed at him by his brother. Sister? Castiel wasn’t sure but assumed that Dean would still view himself as a man, and thus the term brother still applied.

“This isn’t funny, Sam!” Dean was, hilariously, still holding onto his breasts. It made for a rather strange picture. Even Castiel felt a bit of atypical mirth bubble up inside.

“Ahem.” Sam, visibly trying to calm himself, cleared his throat. “It’s a little funny, Dean, you gotta admit that. But it’s probably not very, ah, helpful in this situation.”

“Not helpful? This is a disaster, Sam! The Vizier has declared it law that princess Celeste must have a husband to rule. I mean we all know it’s outdated bullshit, especially since her mother ruled just fine on her own, but it is the law. A husband as in a man, Sam! And do you really think the court will accept a suitor that looks like a streetrat? No matter what the princess may think, this isn’t gonna cut it!” And he made a motion that encompassed, well, all of himself.

Castiel had never understood what the deal was with humans and their strange rules about who could lie with whom, but he also knew that changing laws took time. If Dean showed up to the feast looking like this, his chances to reach his goal were below zero.

Dean stomped a shapely foot and walked up to Castiel again, wagging a slender finger in his face.

“Okay, mister, no funny business now! I wish for you to restore me to how I was before the last wish, and I mean  _ exactly _ how I was!”

Castiel rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers and the magic surged up, engulfing Dean once more in bright light. Moments later, he was back to his old self and visibly relieved.

Sam sighed. “That wasn’t so wise, Dean. You could have made some improvements while you were at it. That’s the third wish wasted now. Remember the price you’re paying for each one? We really have to think harder about what you should be wishing for!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean was distracted, patting his body down and cupping his crotch with a look of pure relief on his face. 

Castiel decided that he liked Dean in both forms, but this form was a little preferable, just because Dean seemed so much more comfortable in it.

The brothers settled down after that and started discussing wishes. Thankfully, none of them got the notion to banish Castiel to his lamp, so he settled down in a corner and meditated while listening to the bickering with one ear. It was wonderful to just be out of the lamp, to feel the breeze on his skin, to be able to spread his wings and smell the fragrant night air, and watch the moon and stars. It had been so very long since he’d been able to do any of that. It was easy to get lost in the sensations. So easy, in fact, that Castiel jerked out of his meditative state when a hand touched his shoulder. 

“Dude, relax, it’s just me,” Dean said, sounding tired. “Look, I gotta crash for two or three hours, it’s just no use to try and make any decisions right now. Do you need anything? We don’t have any food and there’s, like... no bed, but we do have a couple more blankets…”

Castiel blinked at this strange human. He could not remember any master of the lamp to ever ask him if he needed anything. It was unprecedented.

“I don’t require sleep and I do not eat,” he said carefully, then decided to be open and trust Dean would not abuse his honesty. “Just, please. Don’t make me go back into the lamp. I’ve been in there for so long, and it’s so nice to be able to feel the wind on my skin and see the sky.”

Dean blinked, expression morphing to horrified. “Wait, what? Are you saying I can force you to go back into that thing just because I happen to be holding it?” 

Castiel nodded reluctantly.

Dean blew a breath in exasperation. “That’s fucked up. I mean I know I said I was your master, but Cas, I didn’t mean it that way. That was before I knew that you were more than just some... ghost or something. You’re not that different from us, I’d never do that to you. Stay out of your lamp or go back into it when and if you feel like it, okay? Just please stay close, because we don’t know where the sorcerer is and whether he’s searching for us.” Dean yawned. “Talk to you in a couple of hours, I really need some shuteye.”

Sam had already retired to a pile of blankets in a corner and Dean did the same, shoving his pile of rags closer to Sam’s. Castiel watched the human settle, get comfortable like a cat and fall asleep in short order. He was still shocked. No one had ever just… talked to him like that. Humans usually saw him as little better than a slave and treated him accordingly. But Dean was different. Good different. 

Castiel thoughtfully settled back and vowed to watch over the sleeping brothers.

It took Sam and Dean days to work out their next wish. At first, Castiel was, by democratic vote and his own sense of caution, supposed to be confined to the ruin while Sam and Dean in turn ventured out to go about their usual business. This soon posed a problem, because Dean refused to leave the lamp anywhere out of his reach, and Castiel had to stick close to it. Dean couldn’t very well forage for food with a six foot blue-skinned Djinn with black wings and glowing eyes in tow. 

Castiel was able to solve that particular problem by giving himself the guise of a human. Both brothers stared at him in surprise when, with a snap of his fingers, he turned himself into an approximation of a human with dark brown hair, tanned skin and blue eyes. 

“I do have some powers besides making wishes happen, you know,” Castiel told them, and if Dean’s eyes rested on him longer and more often after this, Castiel was too polite to mention it.

Thus Castiel was able to accompany Dean on his way through the city. Dean was a bit embarrassed to realize he’d completely forgotten about the gold he’d received in advance from the sorcerer. Two gold pieces wasn’t quite enough to outfit a prince, but it was enough to buy them some decent food and supplies while they pondered how to proceed. 

First order of business was getting the gold coins changed into something less suspicious, because not a single trader at the market would have ever seen one, much less be able to trade for one. Luckily, as a thief, Dean had contacts. So he and Castiel sought out a fence named Bela whom Dean had worked with before. When Dean presented the gold coins to her, her eyes went very wide, but she refrained from asking any questions – as befit her occupation. She wouldn’t pay Dean the full worth, but Dean explained to Castiel that he hadn’t expected her to. Bela needed to make her cut, after all. She had different connections that allowed her to discreetly utilize the gold much more easily than Dean would have been able to, and those connections, too, came with a price.

After the exchange, Dean led Castiel to a tavern at the outskirts of town called The Roadhouse. He explained that it was run by an old family friend who’d often given the brothers food when she could spare it. Ellen, who ran the bar, turned out to be a tough, no-nonsense woman, but Castiel could see she held the brothers in high regard, and Dean was softer around her than Castiel had seen him so far. Dean also seemed fond of Ellen’s daughter, Jo, who worked at her mother’s tavern and was equally tough as nails. 

Ellen was, at first, very suspicious of Dean’s new tag-along. Castiel surmised that usually the brothers stuck to themselves and it was uncommon for them to make any new acquaintances. 

“He’s a friend, Ellen, he really helped me out,” Dean said to her and while Ellen still cast suspicious glances at Castiel afterwards, she seemed to take Dean’s word for it. When Dean presented her with a silver coin and asked to buy supplies from her, her eyes narrowed.

“Dean, what have you been up to?” she asked, fists on her hips. Dean assured her that the money was clean. She finally agreed to sell him food, but tried to give him way more than the silver would buy. In turn, Castiel saw Dean slip two more silver coins into the Roadhouses’ lockbox. He winked at Castiel as he caught the Djinn frowning at him, but left it at that.

Living life as a human with Dean and Sam was a completely new experience for Castiel. It was strange to not draw attention wherever he walked, to be basically invisible. It allowed him to observe humans in a way he never had before. And it allowed Castiel to observe Dean. He saw Dean stop with some younger kids and hand them half of the bread he’d gotten from Ellen. He looked defiantly at Castiel afterwards, as if he expected him to make a comment.

He saw Dean talking to people here and there, listening attentively to their sorrows. Now that Castiel knew to look for, it he noticed Dean helping where he could, slipping people coins, handing out food. Buying from the stalls whose owners looked to be struggling the most. He quietly wondered if the obvious poverty Dean and Sam had lived in had something to do with this. If Dean had done this even before he had the money to spare. Measured up to the need he saw on the streets, the many beggars and orphans, the sick people hidden in alleys and dilapidated homes, two gold seemed like only a drop in the desert. 

Not surprisingly, Dean seemed to be well liked among those that knew him. What a strange feature for a thief, Castiel thought, but it fit with what he had seen of Dean’s soul. The man truly seemed to care for people, despite the difficult lot in life he and his brother had been dealt.

During those days, the brothers held many discussions, sometimes including Castiel as well.

“Can’t I just wish for a lot of gold?” Dean was audibly getting fed up with the whole wish business.

“If you conjure a huge pile of gold from nothing, it will just lead to it losing value, Dean. It’s called economics, I heard about it from the scholars. It’s the reason trade’s currently in trouble in the first place, because the Vizier is having more money minted than is reasonable and it’s devaluing our currency. You’d likely crash the whole country’s trading system if you did that.”

“Uuugh! Fine. So no wishing for non-existent treasure, got it.”

A foreign prince was making his entrance into the city for the grand feast by holding a huge parade. Both brothers were watching the proceedings with crossed arms from a rooftop.

“So what if I just wished for all  _ this _ guy’s stuff?”

“That’d be theft, Dean!”

“Duh! I’m a thief, Sam! Look at him! Where do you think this guy got it? By stealing from the common people, one tax at a time!”

“You don’t know that! Plus, it’d raise suspicion if all of his stuff suddenly vanished and turned up elsewhere.”

And so it went. Finally, the brothers reached an impasse. Dean, hair all sticking up from tearing through it in his frustration, left Sam to his own devices and plopped down unceremoniously next to Castiel. The Djinn was watching some bees fly around wildflowers growing in the cracks of the ruins where they still dwelled—though much more comfortably now that the gold had bought the brothers many warm blankets and pillows and even a tent to keep out the cold and the dew at night.

“This wishing stuff really sucks.” Dean groaned, leaning back and spreading his limbs like a beached starfish. “Hey, you’re the resident expert on wishes, right? What do you think I should wish for?”

Castiel blinked. That was certainly a question no one had posed to him before. He thought about it for a while, considered everything he knew about how wishes and the Power of Fate worked. To his not so great surprise, he found himself actually wanting to help Dean and Sam in their quest. They had good intentions, after all. He’d shut himself away from the world because he’d seen his magic used for evil far too often. But this time, it just might be different.

“Wish for something that you know exists and can envision well,” Castiel said finally. “The more precise you are, the fewer chances there are for the wish to go wrong.” With the memory of his exile, an idea suddenly came to him. “Remember, everything you need, you have already had within your grasp.”

“What? What do you….” Dean suddenly sat up. “The Cave of Wonders! Of course! Thanks Cas, that’s brilliant!”

Dean stood and Castiel followed slowly, his wings settling against his back. His tattoos began to gently glow as if in anticipation.

Dean smiled and this smile twisted something deep inside Castiel. It was an open, honest smile, the smile of a man who’d made a decision and was ready to act on it. The smile of a good man. Castiel only hoped that what Dean was about to do would only cause good things to happen as well.

“Alright, Cas, here’s my wish…” Dean said. And thus it began.


	8. Chapter 8

The longer Castiel talked, the surer his voice became, the more he got into it. He got lost in the description of those first few days for a while, how spending time with Sam and especially Dean had felt. How it had felt to be an accepted part of something, instead of just an asset or a means to an end. Dean had taken great pains to include Castiel in their decisions, had asked him for his advice and, most importantly, had actually listened to what Castiel had to say.

Dean’s fourth official wish (after wish number two and three had been about his unintended change of gender) was for the things needed to outfit a prince from the Cave of Wonders, and it worked beautifully. Castiel described in detail the clothes his magic had summoned, the gifts and trinkets, the precious jewellery. 

Seeing Dean after he’d used some of the fenced money to take a bath and decked out in the Cave of Wonder’s royal garments was a revelation. He looked regal, but not just because of the precious stones and fabrics. It was his bearing, the way he held himself. There had been regality in him all along, but now everyone could see it.

Dean’s soul, despite the growing darkness, was still a sight to behold, and it stole Castiel’s breath away every time he allowed himself to look. The Djinn realized with a start that he what he was feeling was a growing kind of affection for this unusual human.

“You’ve really got it bad, Blue.” Crowley shook his head. 

Castiel, still caught up in his reverie, chose to ignore the comment.

“So you got Squirrel all primped up. What happened then? Did he make it to the feast?”

Castiel smiled at the memory. “Oh, he did, and it was glorious.”

Dean had made his entrance into the city properly the next day, Sam and Castiel disguised as servants at his side. The horse Dean had been riding didn’t come from the Cave of Wonders, of course, but the jewellery from it had paid for it. Dean had decided against a flashy entrance with a parade. He hadn’t wanted to draw too much attention to himself – plus he thought it was tacky to show off like that. So he’d just turned up at the gates and one look at his clothes and entourage convinced the servants that he was truly a noble suitor.

Castiel described to Crowley how Dean’s gifts to the princess were accepted in her stead by the Vizier, and how they’d all known that they’d line Richard’s pockets and the princess would probably never even get to see them.

The Vizier was an oily man, tall of stature and foreign-looking. His moniker “of the romans” made sense once they saw him, because surely he had Roman blood. 

“Welcome, prince… ah, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.” The Vizier looked like a crocodile, all teeth. Castiel could see he wasn’t happy about Dean’s sudden arrival. With the rumors that he intended to wed the princess himself that made sense, since more competition couldn’t be a good thing for him.

“Aladdean. Prince Aladdean of Winchester,” Dean said, and Castiel was impressed by how confident he sounded. Just like a true noble.

“Winchester, Winchester… I’m afraid I have not heard of your kingdom, prince Aladdean.”

“My kingdom may be small, but its splendor is unrivaled. We are rich in natural resources. You will find that we’re also known for our generosity,” Dean declared arrogantly.

“Of course, of course. I recall it now, wasn’t there something about precious gems being mined there?” 

Dean only nodded haughtily, the impressive array of such jewels on his clothes glinting under the light of the chandeliers.

“Very well, welcome to the feast and the courtship, your highness. I’m sure Princess Celeste will be pleased to meet you.”

Somehow Castiel doubted that the princess would be given much of a choice.

The feast started and Dean and Sam secretly marveled at the splendor of the nobles and the palace itself. The decadence was blatant. Servants were everywhere, the amount of food served was so obscene that both Dean and Sam had to force themselves to not gape. The first night of the feast was only about mingling. Dean held idle chit chat with aristocrats as if he was born for it, the conman in him showing his true feathers. But whenever he could, he sought out Sam and Castiel, who had been sent to help the other servants and had to carry around food and drinks, to complain about how hollow most of the people present were, and how much they bored him.

The princess made her entrance fashionably late. She was a slip of a girl, her exotic long red hair done up in a fantastic array of plaits and peacock feathers. She seemed distant, though, and the Vizier encouraged it by keeping her secluded from the guests for most of the night. Dean didn’t even get close enough to catch her eye. 

Richard—whom they’d secretly nicknamed Dick by now—held a speech as if  _ he _ was the centerpiece of the feast and not the princess. He described how during the next days, the suitors would have ample chance to impress the princess by participating in horse racing, ceremonial dueling, hawk hunting and other activities befitting of the rich and the royal.

Dean, Sam and Castiel exchanged glances and Dean sighed. That likely spelled out more wishes.

They couldn’t very well buy a suitable racing horse upon such notice without attracting attention.

Dean wanted to wish for a horse but Castiel, loathe to see him diminished once again, came up with a different idea. Being able to shift himself into a human’s form was not the only kind of magic he was capable of, after all. Castiel proposed that he turn himself into a magnificent silver dappled stallion and for Dean to ride him for the race.

“He rode you? Oh, oh Castiel, how scandalous!”

 “Shut up, Crowley!”

Dean had been reluctant about it, but knew that if he failed to participate in the race he would be cast out from the pool of suitors. He’d been blushing hard as he made to mount Castiel. But once they were racing, Castiel carrying his rider surefooted and safely, they worked together as if they’d never done anything else. It almost was like flying to Castiel, and he thoroughly enjoyed the challenge.

The weird thing was that Princess Celeste didn’t seem the least bit interested in the race. She was present, yes, but her eyes seemed vacant, and she barely spoke to any of the suitors unless prompted. The only time she showed any emotion during the race was when one of the suitor’s horses suddenly tripped and went down hard. 

The princess shot up from her throne with a small cry then, her eyes wide and fearful. Castiel had been next to the horse when it fell and he slowed to see whether horse and rider were doing okay. But Dean jabbed his heels hard into Castiel’s flanks, spurring him forward, uncaring of his competitor. After a moment of hesitation, Castiel obeyed the command of his rider, but he couldn’t help but think that this was an atypical thing for Dean to do.

Luckily the horse was not severely injured, but its rider, Prince Michael, had broken an arm as well as several ribs and had to bow out of the race, forfeiting his claim. He’d been one of the strongest contenders, the oldest prince of the neighboring kingdom, and his departure caused quite a stir. Vizier Richard just smiled, seeming pleased.

Dean and Castiel won the race, thanks to Dean’s ruthless riding, but Princess Celeste had already vanished into her quarters by the time the racers crossed the finish line to the thunderous applause of the assembled court.

The ceremonial duels were held the next day. Dean got dressed up in green ceremonial armor from the Cave that was magnificently decked out in gems and inlays and that brought out his eyes.

He’d never fought with a sword before, since it wasn’t exactly a common weapon among the lower classes, but he did have some experience fighting with a knife and a halberd; he’d gotten hold of an old guard weapon and trained with it. Still Castiel knew Dean wouldn’t stand a chance unless he had a sword of unrivaled make that would allow even an unskilled fencer a chance to win. For the race, they’d manage to steer clear of wishes, but for the sword, Dean would have to make a wish.

When the light of Castiel’s magic receded, Dean was holding a beautiful sword. He admired the ornate heft and the perfectly balanced blade.

“It’s sharper and lighter than any blade of mortal making.” Castiel said. “But most importantly, if you trust it, it will never lead you astray. It will become like an extension of yourself. It will protect you as if it had a mind of its own. Point it at any opponent and it will strike true, finding your enemy’s weakness. It’ll protect you.”

“Wow. This is amazing, Cas.” Dean was still caressing the sword, marveling at the details. “Where did you find such a beautiful weapon? Did it belong to a king? A great hero?”

“Ah… not… exactly.” Castiel found himself blushing, to his mortification. When he’d seen  _ which  _ blade exactly the magic had chosen to bring forth for Dean’s wish, he hadn’t even been surprised. Castiel had no control over the Power of Fate, but it had felt fitting to give Dean this particular sword.

“Oh? There’s something you’re not telling me, Cas. What is it?” Dean raised a playful eyebrow at Castiel, fingers still caressing the blade. 

Castiel shivered and swallowed hard.

“It’s, uh, it’s my sword.” he muttered, embarrassed.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Did you say… you gave me your own sword, Cas? That’s… no that’s too much, I can’t accept this! Where did you even get such a weapon?”

“Forged it myself. It’s made from my feathers, my claws and my own magic.” Castiel sighed. He almost thought he could feel Dean’s hands on the sword, as it was all but a part of himself. 

This was awkward. He’d made the sword a long time ago, before he ever got involved with Metatron and his schemes. A great deal of Castiel’s magic had gone into forging this weapon, his masterpiece to prove to the other Djinn that he was able to perfectly control his powers. 

Now, Castiel’s personal power was much diminished, most of it having gone into the spell that Metatron used to create the lamp. But the sword remained, containing a significant part of his very essence. And he’d given it to Dean, without so much as a second thought, he realized. Castiel looked up and met Dean’s incredulous stare.

“Please, accept it. It’d be my honor.” he said. 

Dean still seemed reluctant, but he finally nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Cas. I’ll take good care of it, I swear. You’re… a great friend. Maybe the best I’ve ever had.” Dean shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that? Did you do things like this for all the previous owners of your lamp?”

Castiel just stared at him. Of course he had not. Even with Megara, they had only connected long after she wasn’t the owner of the lamp anymore. He’d never actively helped any of his so-called masters before. But Dean... Dean was different. Castiel found that there wasn’t much he  _ wouldn’t _ do for Dean.

Such as not telling Sam about the  _ other _ wishes, all because Dean asked him not to.

“Other wishes, huh? What did the bad boy wish for? Forty naked virgins? Bigger dick?”

Castiel frowned in disgust: “Don’t be crass, Crowley.”

It had started during those shared trips into the town. Dean would see a woman with five starving kids and all of the money he’d gotten from Bela already gone. A guilty look at Castiel and a whispered wish later the woman would find that her larder was suddenly filled with food. 

“Don’t tell Sam, Castiel, please. I just... How can I look away from that? Now that I have the power to help... How can I not?” Dean had said. He’d looked so pleading that Castiel had promised. Only it hadn’t stopped there. A crippled old man, a blind beggar, two tiny orphans with huge eyes—the misery was endless and Dean’s heart too soft. And Castiel... could not deny him anything, even if the lamp’s power didn’t force him to obey Dean’s wishes regardless.

“Dean…” Castiel said warningly at the fifth time this happened. As much as he was glad for Dean helping people and as much as he liked to see the joy it brought the man to do so, it hurt him deeply to see Dean’s soul diminish with every wish.

“Cas… If you saw this and had the power to help, would you be able to walk away?” Dean stopped and turned to look earnestly at Castiel.

Castiel hesitated only for a second. “No. I guess I would not.”

“See, that’s why you’re a good person, Cas. It’s your magic that’s helping these people. I’m just the catalyst, really.” Dean smiled. Castiel nodded, still feeling uneasy. On the whole way back to the ruins he could feel Dean glancing over at him whenever he thought that Castiel wasn’t paying attention.

Castiel would give himself if he could atone for his sins but Dean had nothing to atone for. And yet he gave graciously, uncaring of his own loss. Castiel could not deny him that. Not even if he had to watch the light of Dean’s soul diminish with every wish. 

Castiel didn’t know what hurt more—helplessly watching Dean give way too much of himself—or the moment he noticed that Dean had  _ stopped _ helping people. Because Castiel knew what that meant.

Castiel couldn’t tell Crowley much about the other duels—he was too focused on Dean to take much notice of anything else going on. Beside Dean and Vizier Dick, there were four other suitors still competing for the princess’ hand. 

Dean managed to beat his first opponent, the son of a very rich noble from their kingdom named Cole, due to his unconventional fighting style and the incredible sword Castiel’s magic had conjured. He might have been untrained in swordfighting, but he was ruthless. There was a moment right before the end where Dean seemed to forget that this was merely a ceremonial duel for first blood. He’d deflected the noble’s blow easily, the blade in his hand almost seeming to know where to strike of its own accord, and he’d struck the other man’s arm, drawing blood. His opponent had fallen back into the stance indicating that he knew he’d lost the fight, ready to pay tribute to the victor, but Dean pressed on. His eyes were hard like the steel in his hand as he advanced and slashed, his opponent tripping and going down hard since he wasn’t expecting the continued attack. Dean raised his sword, the audience silent with horrified anticipation, the man’s face a mask of fear. Castiel couldn’t bear it.

“Dean!” Castiel shouted. “I mean… your highness! The duel is won, please step back!” 

That seemed to shake Dean from whatever strange mood had held him captive. He lowered his sword, blinked, and, realizing his opponent had fallen, stepped forward to offer the man a helping hand. His opponent accepted with a look of pure relief and Dean seemed to just shake off whatever had come over him.

But Castiel knew what had happened, for he could see the way darkness had swept across Dean’s soul for a moment there.

During Dean’s second duel, something unusual must have happened in the fight between the Vizier and his opponent, as the latter was carried away from the fight on a stretcher, groaning.

Dean’s second opponent, a smug count named Balthazar from a faraway country overseas, was harder to beat. Despite the magic sword, Dean was outmatched—Balthazar won the duel on account of technical finesse. Dean was fuming, but at least he hadn’t come in last and was thus still in the running. Balthazar then proceeded to outmatch the Vizier also, emerging victorious.

The princess had never even turned up to watch.


	9. Chapter 9

“I can see where this is going.” Crowley said. “The Vizier was decimating the competition with underhanded means, wasn’t he. How many of the suitors did he get to?”

“Four of them, from what I know.” Castiel said. “He surely orchestrated that accident during the race, and he must have also done something to his opponent during the duel. Count Balthazar was revealed to have fallen ill the very next morning after the duels; food poisoning, they said. Sultan Bartholomew and Prince Gadreel were the only ones left after that. The next day, during the hawk hunt, Richard and Bartholomew were seen talking very earnestly and the sultan withdrew from the courtship that very evening. Then, for the next day, the remaining three suitors were to have one-on-one meetings with princess Celeste.”

“Ah, the plot thickens. So your precious Dean finally met the infamous princess. Did they hit it off? Did she swoon at his sight? If I recall it right, he wasn’t really her type.”

“I wasn’t present for their meeting.” Castiel said, eyes downcast. He’d always wondered what Dean had said to the princess and she to him. He’d come back from their talk looking pensive and withdrawn.

“She’s nothing like I imagined a princess would be, Cas.” he’d said. “I think she’s very unhappy. She told me she hates the name Celeste because it’s her official royal name and it’s so, and I quote, ‘stiff.’ She asked me to call her  _ Charlie _ . She’s actually really nice. And she’s a lot more scrappy than you’d think. She’s got spunk and she’s gunning for revenge. I’m not sure… it doesn’t matter. I’m sure I can persuade her to marry me.” Dean had seemed confident, almost arrogant, then, and very much unlike himself as he retired to the suite he and his ‘servants’ had been given for the duration of their stay. Castiel noticed, and he worried.

He sought Dean out that evening, after the feast, intending to talk to him. It was a relief to be able to shed his disguise and finally be his true self again. His wings felt cramped from keeping them unnaturally still all day.

Dean was pacing restlessly, brooding over something from the looks of it. He had no eye for the luxury of his rooms nor the food laid out on his table in case ‘Prince Aladdean’ felt like a midnight snack.

“Hello Dean.” 

Dean’s head snapped up and upon seeing Castiel, he seemed to relax a bit.

“Hey Cas.” There was that small private smile, the one Castiel noticed seemed to only ever be directed at himself. It made something in the vicinity of his chest flutter.

“So, big day tomorrow, huh? Princess Celeste will announce whom she chose. Think it’ll be me? I mean… Gadreel’s not so bad, but he’s so stiff. And she obviously won’t choose that old bastard Dick. So. We’re almost at our goal. A lifetime of luxury and power to change things for the better. What more could you want?”

Castiel coughed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Dean. Is that truly what you want? And are you willing to pay the price?”

“What are you talking about, Cas? This is everything we’ve worked for. What price? Providing nothing else goes wrong, I hopefully won’t have to make any more wishes.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dean.” Castiel sighed, trying to think of a way to make Dean see what was troubling him.

“Your plan sounded good in theory—persuade the princess to marry you, secure a position of power and then help the people. It’s an admirable plan. But it’s built on deception and lies. Doesn’t princess Celeste deserve someone who will love her for herself? Don’t you deserve someone like that?”

Dean’s frown deepened and he turned, walking closer to Castiel and tapping his chest with an accusing finger. “What are you saying, Cas? We can’t stop now! This is our only chance! Also, love is for fools and fairytales. The princess knows that and so do I. Who would ever love someone like me, a thief and a whore, the lowest of the low?”

“You’d be surprised.” Castiel said softly, looking at Dean. His wings rustled as his feathers fluffed. Dean inhaled sharply, seeming to suddenly realize just how close they were. His eyes flicked down to Castiel’s lips. Castiel, unsure of what Dean wanted the same thing he did, kept himself perfectly still. Slowly, Dean’s eyes became half-lidded and he swayed closer.

“Dean…” Castiel breathed. Dean’s eyes flew open and he all but tore himself back.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cas.” Dean’s voice was cold, suddenly, devoid of the warmth and emotion Castiel had become used to. “You’re this all powerful, timeless being. What even is the strife of humankind to one like you? You couldn’t possibly understand. Sometimes, we have to make sacrifices. It’s my decision to make. My wish.” Dean held himself straight and stiff, his eyes hard as he said the words Castiel had hoped to never hear. “Or have you forgotten who is master and who is servant here? Go, guard my door.” When Castiel hesitated, Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Or do I have to wish for you to do it?”

“No. I’ll do it.” Castiel spat, furious and heartbroken. “Sleep well… Your highness!” And he left.

That night, while Castiel kept guard and Dean and Sam slept, assassins came for them. Luckily, Castiel had been on guard, mistrustful of the security provided by the royal palace guard. He’d swiftly dispatched of the assassins, having barely had to use a fraction of his true strength. Dean found him standing over the unconscious attackers, eyes still faintly glowing. He gulped, staring at the way Castiel casually dusted off his hands.

“I’m sorry that I woke you.” Castiel said to Dean. “I’ll dispose of them; you can go back to sleep.”

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just shrugged and nudged on of the unconscious attackers with his foot. 

“Fine. Make sure they won’t ever trouble us no more. I don’t care how.” he said, then returned to his quarters.

“Assassins. A classic. I’m guessing they were also sent by the evil Vizier? Ugh, really. It’s such a stereotype. The Vizier is always evil. Someone should tell that guy that this trope’s way overdone,” Crowley mused.

“They were, evidently. And they got to Prince Gadreel, too. He was found dead the next morning. Suicide, they said, because he couldn’t face the shame of being rejected by the princess. It became crystal clear to us then that the whole feast was just a farce. Obviously Richard was going to make sure that the princess accepted only his hand in marriage. He just wanted the pretense of legality that emerging victorious from a grand courtship would’ve given him. Dean wasn’t happy.”

“I bet.”

“This isn’t going to work, Dean.” Sam said once he learned of the failed attempt on their lives. “Richard is never going to give up. And the princess lacks the strength to stand up to him.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Dean said wistfully. “She’s much smarter than people give her credit for. And I’m pretty sure she suspects that the Vizier killed her mother. She hates him.”

“Well, unless she officially accuses him there’s not much we can do about it. And if she does, chances are he’s going to stage a coup and take over anyways. He’s got the palace guard behind him.”

“It’s too bad that just wishing him dead is out of question. Maybe I should just kill him myself, save us all the trouble.” Dean said, wistfully. Sam’s expression derailed for a moment as he stared accusingly at Castiel. The Djinn knew that Sam blamed him for this. The Dean who had gotten the lamp out of the Cave would never have said anything like it.

“What if I just wished for him to leave of his own accord?” Dean turned to Castiel with a raised eyebrow.

“You would wish for me to mess with his mind? Take away his free will?” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“No? Yes? I mean... If you put it that way it sounds bad, but… “

“If he just up and left it’d look suspicious though, Dean. People would always question whether Princess Celeste’s rule had started under a bad star.”

“Okay, okay, but... what if… what if she accuses him of her mother’s murder and of meddling in the courtship? And what if she has evidence to back it up? She’ll send him to exile. And then, Cas just, I dunno, gives him a tiny nudge to accept the judgment. Surely that’d be… not so bad, considering the alternatives?” Sam and Castiel shared a look, considering.

“I guess that might be acceptable. If the princess is willing to work with us. Do you think you can persuade her? It’s a huge risk.” Sam finally said.

“Oh, don’t worry. You know me, I have my way with the ladies.” Dean chuckled. “Besides, I have a feeling we’re all underestimating her. It’s not going to take a lot to get her on our side. I’ll give her her revenge if only she agrees to marry me.” The last sentence had Sam’s face fall and he threw Castiel an accusatory look.


	10. Chapter 10

“Sounds like a match made in heaven.” Crowley commented dryly. “Please tell me they married and will live happily ever after.”

Castiel winced. Because yes, Charlie was great. She was courageous and smart and a good match for Dean. And even if Dean wasn’t what she truly wanted, he was sure she’d grow to love him as a husband in time. After all, Dean would make for an amazing consort. But now that he’d seen what Metatron had wrought in his absence, he was afraid that they’d never even get the chance to live their happy ever after.

Crowley seemed to sense he’d stepped in it, but as per usual, chose to ignore it and barreled on.

“So, did your genius plan work?”

“It did. Dean persuaded the princess to accuse the Vizier publically. She did it at the last night of the feast and it caused quite the uproar. But Dean had wished for evidence of Richard’s dastardly plans, and with a letter in the Vizier’s own writing detailing his plans to murder the sultaness, there really was no doubt about his guilt.”

“And you gave him that nudge Dean asked you for?”

Castiel sighed and rubbed his temples.

“I did. I’m not proud of it, and it cost more than I thought it would. Influencing free will always does. But it saved countless lives—or at least that’s what we thought at the time.”

“And he just… walked away?”

“He was sent into exile, yes. Put on a horse and chased out of town. It was a grand day. The common people were cheering. The palace guard seemed too blindsided to do anything but fall in line. I should have known better.”

“So your golden boy saved the kingdom and won his princess. A rousing success. What happened then?”

“Princess Celeste—Charlie—she declared that a new age of prosperity was dawning. She promised to change the unjust laws and lower the taxes. She vowed that once she was crowned sultaness she’d appoint a circle of advisors from all runs of life that would help her justly rule over the kingdom. She also announced that she had accepted prince Aladdean’s courtship and that they would marry.”

“Ouch. I mean it was inevitable, but that must've hurt.” Crowley wore a complicated expression that Castiel deduced was probably what passed for sympathy for him.

“What? It was everything we strived for. I... I was happy for Dean, and Sam!” Castiel said too quickly. 

Crowley’s eyebrows rose so far they almost vanished in his hairline. “Really, Blue? You’re really trying to tell me that you’re happy that your wonderful righteous soul is marrying a princess who doesn’t even love him or want him and who only agreed to marry him for revenge?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? They seem to like each other.” Castiel said, petulantly.

“Oh for the love of… because you love him, you idiot! Even I can see that!” Crowley roared, finally at the end of his patience.

Castiel drew a sharp breath and looked away. He was silent for a long moment, before raising his chin in defiance and staring at Crowley.

“It’s of no consequence how I feel about Dean. We have a more profound bond than mere attraction. My purpose was to help him achieve his goals. Now my purpose must be to save him. That, and that alone, is important.”

Crowley smacked his palm to his forehead and sighed.

“Almighty save me from self-sacrificing Djinns. Fine. So if everything worked out just the way you planned and everything was coming up roses for your boys, how come you ended up here with Metatron again?”

Castiel hung his head. “That, I don’t know. He must have gotten hold of my lamp somehow. I just know that a week later I was guarding the royal quarters at night, and suddenly I was forced into the lamp.”

During the long story Castiel had told Crowley, he’d cradled the magic mirror in his lap. So when the summons came, it got pulled out of the lamp right alongside him.

There was a man standing behind Metatron, a face Castiel knew from his earlier visions in Crowley’s mirror—which Castiel still held in his hands. 

“Did you bring me a present, Castiel? How nice.” 

Crowley just rolled his eyes. Castiel knew that Metatron had tried to get the lamp from Crowley too while it was in his possession, but Crowley had been too smart to give it up. He’d likely regretted that later, but despite the outcome for himself even Crowley knew that everything was better than if Metatron had gotten his hands on the lamp. Crowley might be a bastard and a liar, but he wasn’t completely evil. Not like the sorcerer, who was rotten to the core.

Metatron shifted the focus of his attention to Castiel. He motioned and the man behind him stepped forward, eyeing the Djinn with a sneer.

“Castiel, do you know Uriel? He’s come with wonderful news.”

Uriel the palace guard snorted. “So that’s what he was hiding in that lamp you had me steal for you. Knew that street rat had to have a secret. Thought he could dress up all nice and no one would recognize him, did he? I never forget a face I’ve bruised up.”

Castiel stared at the guard coldly, murder in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t act on it right now, but if he ever got the chance, then Uriel would pay for everything he’d done to Dean over the years.

“Yes, fine, now tell him what you told me, my good man.” Metatron waved haughtily and Uriel complied.

“As I said, I bring you salutations from Vizier Richard. He thanks you for all of your assistance. He says to let you know that the palace is in his hands now.”

Castiel’s heart all but stopped. Did that mean…

“What about the princess and her groom to be?” Metatron was visibly relishing the situation and the pain he knew this caused Castiel.

“Surely dead by now. When I left, they had been forced to withdraw into the royal quarters with only the princess and her closest servants. There’s no way they’ve survived.” Uriel said with a smirk.

Metatron clucked his tongue in satisfaction. “There you have it, Castiel. Your master must be dead. Luckily, I have someone here who’s willing to become your new master. Aren’t you, my good man?”

“Sure, whatever you say. And then I just have to give the lamp back to you and say those words you told me and you’ll give me ten gold, right?” Uriel said.

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” Metatron was gloating.

“Sounds good.”

Castiel bristled. “But that’s madness! Not even  _ you _ can be so dense as to not realize that if you take control of the lamp you can wish for everything you want!” Castiel tried to persuade Uriel, because the man might be a pig, but at least he wasn’t a homicidal sorcerer hellbent on world domination. He might yet be swayed.

“Pfff, magic? Nah! I’ve seen what relying on magic did to that worthless thief and I want no part of it. I’d rather take the gold and the gratitude of a powerful sorcerer any day! I’m just regretting that I didn’t get to wring the little whore’s neck myself!” 

Castiel clenched his teeth. Surely he’d feel if his bond with Dean was broken? Inside the lamp, such things were hard to tell, but now, outside, he should have felt the magic link between them snap. Or had Dean’s soul been so corrupted at the end that the bond had already begun to dissolve?

_ Almighty. _ What should he do? As long as Metatron or Uriel held the lamp, he was powerless. If Dean was truly gone—and Sam and Charlie with him—what sense was there in resisting Metatron anymore? A wave of desperation swept over him. But with it came a strange calm. No. Castiel had never in his long life given up fighting. He’d chosen to exile himself in the Cave of Wonders so Metatron could not get to him, but he had never given in to the sorcerer. He would not sully his friend’s memory by doing so now. Dean would have wanted him to keep on fighting.

Metatron had apparently been hoping for more of a reaction than just Castiel standing straighter and facing him with a glare. 

“Ugh! You never had any sense for drama.” he said, raising the lamp he was clutching.. “Fine. Here, Uriel, take it and don’t forget: ‘Hear me, Castiel, I cede the ownership of the lamp to Metatron.’ That’s what you have to say.” Uriel was reaching out to take the lamp when a plume of red smoke erupted in the middle of the room and from it stumbled three shapes. A fourth followed at a more sedate pace.

“GAH! You weren’t kidding, this form of transportation sucks!” a female voice coughed.

There was a moment of silence as Metatron gaped at the new arrivals. The smoke dissipated and Castiel felt his heart soar in jubilation.

In the middle of the room stood Sam, Charlie, Meg… and Dean.

Dean was still holding onto the magic sword. Sam was bleeding from a cut on his cheek and Charlie—Princess Celeste—Castiel barely recognized. Her long plaits had been shorn off and she wore men’s garb, a tunic and pants. She was holding a fierce looking halberd, and it looked like she knew how to handle it, too.

“Dean! Sam, how…” Castiel finally found his voice. 

Meg winked at him. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” she purred, motioning to her ring on Charlie’s finger. 

The princess smiled and blushed a little. “For the record, Ifrits? Real badass!” she said, her gaze resting adoringly on Meg. Castiel blinked in surprise. 

Metatron meanwhile had recovered from his stupor. “Surely dead, you say?” He screeched at Uriel. “How hard can it be to kill three pesky people? Do I have to do everything around here myself? Make yourself useful! I’ll give you twenty gold if you help me!”

Dean, having recovered from the magical ride, grabbed his sword tighter and stepped closer to Metatron.

“You!” he snarled. “Of course. I’m not even surprised. I don’t know how you got a hold of Cas’ lamp, but you’ll give it back, now!”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Metatron raised the lamp slightly, laughing. “And why would I do that?”

Dean slowly raised his sword. “Oh, because if you don’t, I will kill you slowly. I’ll keep you alive for as long as I can, savor your pain.” Dean’s smile was lopsided and horrifying in it’s wrongness. “I’d vow to find anyone you love and kill them too but that’d be futile, wouldn’t it. I doubt anyone could love a monster like you.”

Metatron wasn’t cowed in the least. “Heh. From one monster to another, do you think you can threaten me with that little stick of yours? I don’t think so. Castiel, tell him.”

Dean’s eyes flew to Castiel, who stood frozen. For he could see Dean’s soul, and it was just as Metatron had shown him. There was very little left of Dean. Only one bright spot in a sea of churning darkness. Castiel didn’t know what would happen when Dean made his last wish—it depended on the person and the nature of the wish. Crowley had wished for knowledge and his last wish had turned him into a magic mirror who could only reflect what the viewer asked him to... and never anything useful. Meg had asked for the power to win her freedom and get revenge for what had been done to her—she’d gotten the power and the revenge, but in turn lost her freedom forever, bound to the ring just as Castiel was bound to the lamp. Cain had asked for strength to slay his enemies and he’d gotten it—but lost the ability to tell friend from foe in the end. Such was the Power of Fate, such was the curse of the last wish. Greed turned into punishment.

Once Dean made his last wish, he’d be lost to Castiel forever.

“Tell him, Castiel!” Metatron repeated with a hiss and Castiel’s wings flustered in anger.

“He’s telling the truth, Dean. You cannot kill him.” Castiel finally admitted.

Dean raised his sword. “You mean even if I run him through with this?”

“Not even then. When Metatron created the lamp and bound me to it, he tied his own Fate and essence into it in the process. As long as the lamp exists, he is immortal. But he also can only gain ownership of the lamp if someone forfeits their wishes and instead transfers the ownership to him. The Power of Fate has a real sense of humor. He’s been trying to get someone to do that for 600 years.”

Metatron didn’t seem happy that Castiel chose to reveal that little tidbit too, but he recovered quickly.

“There you have it. You can’t kill me. And since you cannot win, isn’t it a much better idea to cede ownership of the lamp to me before you make your last wish and doom yourself? Castiel, surely you have something to say to this?” 

Castiel closed his eyes briefly. What was worse—condemning the whole world but making sure his friends at least would be able to live out their happily ever afters? Or to see Dean succumb to the curse and lose him forever?

The choice was surprisingly much easier than Castiel would have thought it would be.

“Please, Dean. Just do as he says,” he whispered, broken. 

“What? No, Castiel, what are you saying?” Sam protested. Charlie, who was clearly confused by everything going on, just watched with a frown. And Dean… Dean wouldn’t even look at Castiel.

“Sam, he promised to leave you alone, leave your whole kingdom alone, if Dean agreed to the trade. Just think. You’ll all be able to live peacefully.”

“We can’t trust him!” Sam yelled. 

“True, Castiel.” Meg chimed in. “Even  _ I _ know him well enough that I’m sure he’ll screw you all over somehow. And… you know what he’ll do to you. What he’ll do to the world!”

“Meg, please. What happens to me doesn’t matter. I’ve been running from my Fate for a long time, but now I see it was futile. All I’ve ever brought to you, to everyone, is grief. My magic is a curse and nothing good will ever come of it. It was my own hubris that brought this onto me. He’ll never give up hunting me. At least this way something good will have come from my powers.”

“We’re talking about the magical enslavement of the whole world, Castiel! What could possibly ever make that worth it?”

Castiel only looked at Dean and Sam, then silently averted his eyes.

“What if I just never made my last wish?” Dean’s voice was flat, devoid of the empathy and emotion he’d used to have.

Metatron shrugged and smirked. “What with you three now being fugitives and a rather powerful, immortal sorcerer with a grudge after you? Oh, the dangers you will face. Mmh, the way I see it, you won’t last long. I’ve waited 600 years, I can wait a little longer yet. Or…” he trailed off suggestively. “... you can just spare yourself all the heartbreak and give in to the inevitable. Listen to Castiel. Even he thinks it’s for the best. What other choice do you have, really?”

Suddenly, Uriel, who’d snuck up behind the group while everybody was busy talking, jumped forward and grabbed Sam, pressing the blade of his halberd to Sam’s neck.

“Way too much talking! This man promised me a whole lot of gold if I helped him get this stupid lamp. So unless you want your little brother bleeding out on the floor, you’ll be a good little street rat now and hand over that lamp to the nice man!” he shouted.

“Sammy! Don’t hurt him!” Dean yelled, and  _ there _ was the emotion that had been missing up to now. Castiel realized with a pang that no matter how much Dean had changed, his love for the people he cared for, such an essential part of himself, was still there. The mere thought of Dean losing that too, of his last wish taking that love from him and making him into an empty shell of the man he’d been, was anathema to everything Castiel was.

“Fine! You win!” Dean growled and Metatron cackled gleefully. “What do I have to do?”

“Just say ‘Hear me, Castiel, I cede the ownership of the lamp to Metatron,’” he said and handed the lamp to Dean.

Dean stared at the black lamp in his hands for a moment.

“Dean, no!” Charlie shouted and Meg chimed in. Dean looked up, his eyes hard. “I have to do this,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “I’m sorry. Sammy, Charlie, Meg… Cas. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel steeled himself for the inevitable. He saw Dean nod at Charlie who backed away with sadness on her face. Charlie and Meg exchanged a look and Castiel wondered what that was about for a second, because it looked like…

“Hear me, Castiel…” Dean began and Castiel’s attention was drawn back to him. Dean looked sad and beautiful and determined. He was staring right at Castiel, his eyes full of something Castiel couldn’t name.

“Dean…” Castiel said brokenly. He was so torn. He couldn’t lose Dean, but having to watch this man—the man he loved, as Crowley had so accurately pointed out—having to make this impossible choice was killing him.

“Forgive me, Cas.” Dean said. “Forgive me but… I’d rather have you, cursed or not.”

Castiel shook his head, frowning. “Dean, what…”

“HEAR ME, CASTIEL…” Dean repeated, surer now, drawing himself up to his full height.

Metatron and Uriel were both watching him with rapt attention, so they failed to notice Charlie and Meg sneaking up on Uriel until it was too late. Charlie swung her halberd at Uriel’s side, and at the same time Meg, moving quick as a cat, tackled Sam so that he was torn forcefully from the guard’s grip, away from Uriel’s blade. Dean’s eyes tracked all this and the relieved smile on his face told Castiel that this had been Dean’s plan all along. Suddenly it all made sense.

“DEAN, NO!” he screamed. “Please, don’t…!”

“What’s going on? What is he doing?” Metatron’s shrilly voice was drowned out by Dean shouting at the top of his lungs.

“I WISH FOR CASTIEL TO BE FREE OF HIS BINDINGS FOR ALL OF ETERNITY!”

His magic burst out of Castiel at Dean’s last wish, shooting up and illuminating the whole room. His wings opened wide, every feather outlined by the blinding light that also spilled from his eyes, his hands, and the words on his skin. Those words started dissolving, one by one, while the light still became brighter, until everyone present had to shield their eyes or risk going blind. The last thing Castiel saw before his vision was eclipsed by the light was that last bright spot in Dean’s soul going dark, the magic claiming it’s ultimate price, willingly given.

Castiel cried out in grief and then his vision faded, as he  _ became _ the light and the Power of Fate tore through him, undoing and reforging his very being.


	11. Chapter 11

When Castiel came to his senses again, he was lying on the floor and someone was cradling him in their arms. His wings twitched feebly against a warm body and gentle hands were carding through his hair.

Castiel opened his eyes to blinding brightness. At first he thought it was the light of his magic still – but then he realized it was a  _ different _ light. A warmer, much more brilliant and beautiful light.

Castiel would always recognize this particular sight. He blinked and there he was. Dean was smiling down at him, the light of his soul outshining his mortal form. Gone was the darkness and the corruption. Castiel blinked and shook his head in wonder.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. Glad to see you back.” Dean was still smiling softly down at him. It was a miracle, and for a moment, Castiel wondered if he’d passed into the mythical realm where his brethren were said to go after they tired of their existence in the mortal realm.

“Dean… how… where’s Metatron?” Suddenly alert, Castiel tried to sit up, his wings twitching and almost barreling the laughing Dean over.

“Easy there, big guy. He’s gone.”

“Gone! Where? We must chase him, we must…”

“No, Cas. He’s gone, for good.” Dean pointed to a spot on the floor with a pile of black dust.

“The lamp’s gone, too. It turned to dust in my hands and while it did, Metatron screamed and then suddenly—poof.” Dean shook his head with a grimace.

“He’s... he’s really gone. You mean, he’s… I can’t believe it.” Castiel murmured, falling back into Dean’s gentle hold. Only now did he realize that Dean was sitting on the floor where Castiel had fallen, Castiel’s head in Dean’s lap.

“Oh, you better believe it, Clarence.” Meg’s voice made Castiel look up once more. His friend stepped closer, grinning. “Boy Wonder here really did it. He broke the curse, Castiel! I am free! My ring, too, has turned to ash. I am no longer bound to anyone who happens to carry it!” 

“Oh Meg! That’s wonderful! Are you still? Do you…?” 

Meg motioned at her reddish skin, her eyes flicking black briefly with an amused expression. “Yep. I still got the juice. Your boyfriend gave me everything I ever wanted, so I reckon we’re even now, unicorn.” 

“But you’re going to hang around, aren’t you?” That was Charlie, looking at Meg in a way that had Castiel do a double take. Talk about things he’d never seen coming.

“Oh sure, Red. This bunch of folks is way too much entertainment. I’ll hang around and see what else you lot get up to. After all, you still have a kingdom to win back.”

Charlie smiled shyly and to Castiel’s absolutely amazement, Meg’s red cheeks darkened as if she was blushing, too. Would wonders never cease?

“Sam! Is he alright?” Castiel suddenly remembered the last moments before the wish took hold, and Sam in Uriel’s hold.

“I’m fine, Cas.” Sam walked over from where he’d been examining Metatron’s impressive library and knelt down next to Dean. Castiel grabbed the boy’s hands, elated beyond words to see his friend safe.

“Cas, I wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said to you before, okay?” Sam said with chagrin. “I know I blamed you for what was happening to Dean when really it was his free will all along. No one forced him to make those wishes. And you couldn’t help what the magic did to him in return. I know you would never hurt him or any of us if you could help it.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel had to blink away actual tears at the unexpected apology. “But how…”

“How did that last wish reverse what happened to me?” Dean chimed in. “I don’t know, but I can tell. I feel different. There was so much rage and anger during those last days inside of me. It felt as if darkness was filling me up, poisoning my blood and my mind. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. And now I feel… free. For the first time in forever, I feel at peace, Cas. And I feel it when looking at you.”

“Dean… if it wasn’t for me, you would never have been at risk in the first place, if…” 

“Like Sam said, it was of my own free will. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But…”

“Oh, Almighty, what’ll it take to shut you up?” Dean was laughing and suddenly he leant forward and pressed his lips against Castiel’s, who gasped in shock. After a second, Dean drew back with a nervous expression.

“I.. um. Was that okay? I didn’t really think and…”

“Dean. Kiss me again,” Castiel commanded, and pulled Dean back to him by the remnants of his torn doublet.

They got lost in each other for a long while, until someone sharply clearing their throat made them finally separate. Castiel stared at Dean in wonder, taking in Dean’s smile, the tenderness sparkling in those green, green eyes. Never would he have thought that Dean might return his affections.

“Oh, I wonder what happened to my good pal Crowley who kept me company for so many centuries and helped me stay sane. I do wonder if he’s alright. Isn’t that so, Blue, old buddy, old pal.” A mocking voice finally shook Castiel from his reverie. He looked up and saw a stocky man with crossed arms glare down at him. 

“Looks like he’s doing just fine.” he said dryly and Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“No thanks to you. ‘Oh Dean, you have to condemn me to a lifetime of slavery just so you can be happy.’” Crowley snorted. “Thankfully Squirrel here’s smarter than you. Thanks for freeing us all from the curse, buddy.”

“Who  _ are _ you?” Dean asked, bewildered. Crowley just threw up his hands and walked away, muttering angrily.

“So I guess the marriage is off, oh husband to be?” Charlie had a hand on her hip and was smiling cheekily at Castiel and Dean. To Castiel’s delight, Dean blushed but nodded at once.

“Yeah, I guess so. I hope you’re not mad, Charlie? It’s just… he and I.. uh…” He helplessly gestured at Castiel and himself.

“Oh, I can see what he is to you, Dean. Don’t worry, I only liked you for your personality, not your perky behind. Also I’ve already got my sights on someone else. We can still be friends though, right? I’m going to need royal advisors and having a Djinn and a badass thief at my side? Well, that’s something not every princess can claim.”

“Of course! Thanks Charlie.” Dean, looking elated, smiled down at Castiel. “Hear that? A badass thief, she called me. Royal advisors, you and me!”

“That’s all very nice, but there’s the tiny problem of Charlie’s kingdom being in the hands of a madman right now. A madman with magical mercenaries!” Castiel didn’t wish to burst Dean’s bubble, but he was ever the realist.

“So get this,” Sam said, wandering over again with a book in his hands, “Metatron has a  _ ton  _ of books on magic here. I bet with Castiel’s and Meg’s help I can figure out how to reverse the spell he used to make Dick’s guards so much stronger. If we return to the city and manage to gather the people who are loyal to Charlie—I mean, her Highness— and outfit them with the weapons we can buy with the Cave of Wonder’s treasure, we’ll be able to beat them.”

“We can also ask Prince Michael, Count Balthazar and Prince Gadreel’s family for help. They were all hurt and bereft by Richard, I’m sure they’d be happy to lend a hand. It could be the start of an alliance that would help our kingdoms grow and prosper instead of constant mistrust and strife. My mother always talked about starting just such a thing.” Charlie chimed in.

“I already said I’ll stick around.” Meg shrugged. “It’s not like I got anything better to do.”

Dean smiled. “That settles that, then. So, Castiel… what do you think? Wanna start a rebellion with me... with us? To finally bring peace and prosperity to the people?”

Castiel looked up at Dean, his righteous soul, the man who’d singlehandedly restored his faith in humanity, his light in the darkness.

“There’s nothing I’d love to do more.” Castiel said, spreading his wings and calling his power to himself—before giving into temptation and kissing Dean once more. 

Just because he could.

And they lived happily ever after. The End.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here‘s some really cool facts about Djinn that inspired me to write this story:  
> (All from Wikipedia)
> 
> \- Djinn are related to heavenly beings, a sub-category of angels or a tribe of angelic beings, who is able to sin and created from fire, unlike their light-created counterpart.  
> \- Related to common traditions, the angels were created on Wednesday, the Djinn on Thursday (!!!) and humans on Friday, but not the very next day, rather more than 1000 years later.  
> -individual Djinn are commonly depicted as monstrous and anthropomorphized creatures with body parts from different animals or human with animalic traits.
> 
>  
> 
> Now, if you'd like, tell me your favorite lines, or when you figured out who the strange scribe was, and when you realized what Dean was going to do. Or tell me your headcanons about how they defeat Dick and get the kingdom back and what Dean and Cas' life as royal advisors is like. It'd make my day!
> 
> If you're interested, here's an invite to the Profound Bond discord server (18+ only)! It's a great community for fans, writers and artists with regular challenges, a zine, a podcast and much more! Come join us!  
> https://discord.gg/AGqq2y8


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